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THE UNIVERSITY 
OF ILLINOIS 
~ LIBRARY 


C08 
Shi7e 


Return this book on or before the 
Latest Date stamped below. 


University of Illinois Library 


L161—H41 


{ 


od 


Choice Dialect 


Characterizations 


Containing Readings and 

Recitations in frish, German 
Scotch, French, Negre 
and other Dialects 


Compiled by 
CHARLES C. SHOEMAKER 


Philadelphia 

The Penn 7 
Publishing Company 
1924 - 


5 


ote. 


-" 


ae 


CONTENTS. 


dnpze’s Ticket . 
Apples—A Negro Lecture... . 


Aunt Parson’s Story ......e. 


Aunt Sophronia Tabor at the Opera . 


Be Content 


Chak Bre NIK Seon Vea Sev aay SN) 


‘Bevare of the Vidders ..... 
Biddy’s Trials Among the Yankees . . . Harper’s Bazar. 
Biddy McGinnis at the Photographer’s 
IBONnBIe Sweet JessiG: 5 5. 66s gfe eis in ee ia ale erie 
SOG (UAEEAI 1/5 ahs eel, y rw yo! oo) ode He AUTK:, | 


e 


KBr ieeaiotinn Journal 


eee 2 © © © © ee 


7 e e© © © © & +6 


oe @ © © © © @ 


Bravest of the Brave .......+.- . RB. J. Burdette 
MERAH hoes se ee eh sae a 


Cabm Hove SONG isos .6.s6 he ee 


Coffee My Mother Used to Make, The . 
Cultured Daughter of a Plain Grocer, The ....... 
Dat YallerGown........... . Charles H. Turner 
De Preacher an’ de Hants, ...... 


Der Deutschers Maxim. ....... « Charles F. Adams 


od. A, Macon . 


. dames Whitcomb Riley 


° 


of © © 


. William H. Hayne 


PETAL OD MOTITIOG chy eh tei akcai eke lata iw oe AED eels g 


Diftidence . . 


Dutchman’s Testimony in aSteamboat Case,A ..... 
Earthquake in Egypt, The... . 


_ Examination in History, An . . 


RAMP AUS BRU Tea hel a a ialjarce: aie 


PAPURGTAL THOR Aer), Goes lies ees 


> Babe and the Irish Lady .... 
. Grandfather’s Rose. ...... 
Grandpa’s Courtship ...... 


; He Guessed He'd Fight .... 


-~ How Pat Went Courting .... 
- Inasmuch 


(It’s Vera Weel . REPEN PRE wii- Wettelhs 
" Jimmie’s Prayer BPS GULe Nels kos 


risks COQUCLEY, 6.5 a .'42's) 0:0) 06 


. Kit; or, Faithful Unto Death 


_ 


} 


- KyartinaJim .... 
om) Choice Dialects. 


“ee @ © © © @ © © @ @ 


_ Inventor’s Wife, The. ..... 


Engineer’s story, The ........ 
' Evening Song on the Plantation . 


- Eugene ‘ Hall. 
. J. A. Macon. 


- Charles F. yee, 


. Wili Carleton 


° 


- Mary E. C. Wyeth . 
. Mary A. Denison. . 
. Helen Whitney Clark 


| Wallace Bruce . 
. Mrs, E. T. Corbett 


. Wallace Dunbar 
. Boston Transcript . 


ce 


. 191 


iv CONTENTS. 


Larry’s On the Force. ...... « . Irwin Russell. 2... 22 os Sh 
Light From Over the Range, The . . ... . 1% «<3 s 0s ee we 6 » 100 
Life's Game of Ball... . . ie WA eee we ey. 
Mary O’Connor, the Volunteer’s Wife . - Mary A. Deniioale sijn a, ofeanemin Se 
Mischievous Daisy ......... . .Jounna Matthews. .....-.. 88 
Mother's Doughnuts . ..,. .... » » Charles F. Adams ...,.... 144 
Mr. Schmidt's Mistake ........ . Charles F. Adams ....... 8 


Mausic‘of ‘the: Past, ‘Lhe c pete ier ter oit leh ar yale gee Aone aw ae 2 26) ion sapere OSES 
Mutilated Currency Question, The. . . . Brooklyn Eagle. ........ 17 
Neighbors... . 2... + AROS, Wek Meera rs ion AM APL ein Sof ulce Le. to 
Old: Woman's Love: Story. fe Giaits vo) cde. we UA eb nies tivealte Ueiee oe eae 


** Ole Marsters” Christmas, The. . . . .Sam W. Small .......-+. I41 
Over the Crossin’ .... 4... . Springfield Republican ..... 31 
PACS LOttery ie. sive. <~ eMies) a )ieale we ‘ells sells gi etga se ow ce! leutwih wf tale 
Pine Town Debating Society, The. ..... 2s ae), le th ag, 18 Sa ee 
Prayer, Thee.) cies | | Wilt Carleton PPE eres re Pe 
Sable: Theology, es) ie ete whe on Ee os LEAGOT] Y)\6 op eitelthy leet eh) «lemme EE 
Schneider's Tomatoes... 5°... s) ). Charles F, Adams «2... sake 
Simons Wife’s Mother Lay Sick ofa Fever ....... © 6a iat Sar! 
Speak Nae Til as eet fel, on cas - ere ae Mire ea ai ieee tyke Wye OE 
Street Gamin’s Story of the Play, A .......: CE aS a se bea he ie 
‘“Teamster Jim’” i... 06's ste aces pbs Je Durdele si. tee else eee 
ext Without aisermon, As teeny eae. yee sikesle! he Pare A Petje): 
Thet Boy Oy OBrw is. 8 ek ite cas «a te dere De Brown 2°.) \oseue c eel ona rea 
Tim Murphy Stow |«.\s. 2 0% fe acs. <s |e) 0's wl a 8) ay 00, Sep eg 
POMMY A KL WIAISe Visiksaier Gre ntl crate date mec rie elisa ap iitke ai lag ha ihre Noy ie peter ed 
Tramp’s Philosophy. A. . 40.3% ° .,. JéMerchant Travelen, Swine eee 
Trapper'’s Last Trail, The. . :... | Madge Morris « iigan iis te Avele eee 
Tribulations of Biddy Malone, The . . . George M. Vickers ....... 939 
Uncle Gabe on Church Matters ..... JA, Mazon eerie ease en eee a 
Uncle Gabe at the Corn Shucking. . . .J. A. Macon. ......... 8 
Uncle Ned’s BanjoSong ...... PEON aie yak act Gate by 3) RLS 
Uncle Pete and Marse George. ... 1... 2-22 s eee SP whe ny vant eae 
Wake of Tim O'Hara, The .. ...  pabene Buchanan <3, pet eet ee nae 
Wee, Wee Bairnie: The 4), (6 Sos sie ay Minen dag RU ok oA a Pat Mik wre 
Wet Weather Talk... ...... ..James Whitcomb Riley ...... 95 
When Greek Meets Greek ..... PRG Sate es, oe 5) Se ninetobiet cher meee 
Why Ben Schneider Decides for Prohibi- 

tion hie sig, Tote dle, Se) iis” w]e oy VAT RODRIG i nc lat bbe mls net tame meee? 
Widow 0’Shane’s Rint, The . ma) altho. SLL ears sy CMP hae to oo, key oot alee 
Winnie’s Welcome .......... . Will Emmett... ..20005 44 
Mousey Tratly: oo asi ose. 6 e to he ini cekaspetl al eve bu 8 sate ete ee 


‘ 


Ghoice Dialect. « 


\ 


CHOICE DIALECT 


OTHER CHARACTERIZATIONS 


FOR 


READING AND RECITATION 


MARY O'CONNOR, THE VOLUNTEER’S 
WIFE. 


‘ ad shure I was tould to come here to your Honor, 
ae To see if you’d write a few words to me Pat. 
He’s gone for a soger is Mister O’Connor, 

Wid a stripe on his arm and a band to his hat. 


An’ what'll you tell him? It ought to be aisy 
For such as your Honor to spake wid the pen, 
An’ say I’m all right, and that mavourneen Daisy 

(The baby, your Honor) is betther agen. 


For whin he went off, it’s so sick was the childer, 

_ She niver held up her blue eyes to his face, 

And whin I'd be cryin’, he’d look but the wilder, 
And say would I wish for the country’s disgrace ? 


So he left her in danger, and me sorely greeting, 
And followed the flag wid an Irishman’s joy, 
Qh! it’s often I drame of the great drums a beating, 
And a bullet gone straight to the heart of me boy. 
5 


6 HOW PAT WENT COURTING. 


And say will he send me a bit of his money, 

- For the rint, and the doctor’s bill, due in a week? 

Well, surely, there’s tears on your eyelashes, honey, 
Ah! faith, I’ve no right wid such freedom to speak 


You’re overmuch trifling—I'll not give you trouble; 
I’ll find some one willin’; oh! what can it be? 

What’s that in the newspaper folded up double? 
Yer Honor—don’t hide it—but read it to me. © 


What? Patrick O’Connor?—no, no, it’s some other; 
Dead! dead !—no, not him, ’tis a week scarce gras 
by ; 
Dead! dead ! why, the kiss on the cheek of his moter; 
It hasn’t had time yet, yer Honor, to dry. 


Don’t tell me—it’s not him—O God! am I crazy? 
Shot dead!—oh! for love of sweet Heaven say no: 
An’ what'll I do in the world wid poor Daisy ! 
Oh! how will I live, and oh! where will I go! 


The room is so dark—I’m not seein’, your Honor ; 
_ J-think—I’ll go home. And a sob quick and dry 
Came sharp from the bosom of Mary O’Connor, 
But never a tear-drop welled up to her eye. 
Mary A. DENISON. 


—_ 


HOW PAT WENT COURTING. 


(From The Leed Mercury.) 


HE’S consinted at last! Fur two years I’d thocht 
kJ adale ov Nelly McC iker, only I had nothin’ oy 


an Irish boy’s boldness to ap and tell her that same. — 


HOW PAT WENT COURTING. 7 


But yisterday sez I to mesilf—“ Pat Murky, now’s yer 
toime, or niver.” Nelly was in the pantry washin’ dishes 
an’ sumthin’ shouted: “Ax her! She’s too busy to 
fook at yer, ony way.” So Istarts on with—“ Troth, Nelly, 
it’s a bad loife for a boy to be livin’ alone.” “ Yis,”’ sez she, 
wid nary a twinkle, “Mike Ryan, that’s jist bin sent 
to prison, is in a bad way indade.”? “Och,” sez I, 
“there’s mony a boy that’s lonely livin’ rite wid his 
friends an’ naybors. Sure an’ I’m lonesome mesilf.”’ 
“ How can I b’lave that,” sez she, “whin y’ve got a 
fiddul?” ‘‘Fidduls,” sez I, “are cheerin’, but I’ve 
got me two eyes set on somet, on somethin’ cheeriner.” 
She forgot to ax me what that sumthin’ wus, so I trotted 


off by another road, sayin’: “Faith, Nelly, ’m goin’ 


back to Ould Ireland.”  ‘“ Indade,” sez she, flirtin’ the 
dishrag. “ An’ it’s a pity ye iver cum over.” ‘“ Yis,” 
sez I, “ Jane said that same in her last lether.” 

* An’ who’s Jane?” axt Nelly, gettin’ red loike the 
crabs on the table besoid her. “She thinks a power 0’ 
me,” sez I, onheedin’. “Shure an’ that’s quare. Is 
she young—as me?” “Yis.” “ An’ better lookin’ ?” 
“‘Paple moight think so.” ‘“ An’ isshe waitin’ fur ye?” 
“ Yis.” “She'll be changin’ names sure, I reckon?” 


_ “Yis.” “Wat's her name now?” “Jane—Murky!” 


cried I, wid delight. “Thin she’s your sister?” sez 
Nelly, cross ez her mistress. “ Well, it aint much mat- 
ter, seein’ ez how [ve got a boy wotchin’ fur me over 
in Ballycoran.” “ Wat’s his name?” axtI, turnin’ hot 


an’ cold all at wunst. “Barney Flynn,” sez she. 


“ About me size?” “Yis.” ‘An’ duz he luv ye?” 
“Nixt to the Vargin.” “Is he comin’ over sure?” 
“No.” “Why not, bedad ?”’ “Och, Pat, he’s married 
wlriddy !” “ The spalpeen |” says I. “ Don’t give him 


8 UNCLE GABE AT THE CORN-SKUCKING. 


hard names,” sez she, “Barney Flynn’s me stip. 
brother !”’ 

Then she lafft that purty laugh o’ hern, an’ I went up 
close. “Nelly,” sez I. “ Wat, Pat?” “Cud yeluva boy 
loike me?” “ 'Troth an’ I wouldn’t thry.” “Why not, 
darlint ?” “ Faith, I was niver axt to.” ‘ Then [ll ax 
ye now.” “Don’t do it,” sezshe. “I’m that full o’ 
work I couldn’t reply for a month,” and the dishes 
flew’d ivry wich way ez she said it. ButI sat down 
on the stip. “I kin wait,’ sez I. ‘The misthress will 
come an’ foind yez here.” “I'll be plazed to mate her.” 
“Tl tell her ye’re a robber.” “ Begorra, that’s just 
what I am, for I’m afther Nelly McCusker’s heart |” 
* Ye’ll be arrested.” “Ihav bin alriddy, an’ yer blu’ 
eyes did it!” sez I. “Cum, Nelly, lock me up in yer 
warm heart foriver.” ‘Och, it’s boulted an’ I’ve lost 
the key.” “Thin I'll cloimb in at the winder.” She 
hung her curly hed fur a minit, and whin she lookt up 
I axt her to be me woife. “Tl guv ye five secinds,” 
sez I. “Ef ye wull, just fotch me the big pewter spoon 
ye’ve bin wipin’; ef ye won't, thin put it back in the 
Arawer!”” She peeped at me over the top av it. “ D’ye 
mane what ye say, Pat?” “ Yis, darlint,” sez I. “Thin 
here’s the spoon.” 


UNCLE GABE AT THE CORN-SHUCKING. 


_—__—_— 


E stars is shinin’ out de sky de brightes’ eber seen ; 
De shucks behine’, de corn befo’, de niggers in 
between ; 
De likely gals is he’pin’ an’ deir shiny eyes a-blinkin’; 


ve ee 
’ 
z oe 


UNCLE GABE AT THE CORN-SHUCKING. 9 


De shucks is flyin’ libely an’ de pile ob corn is 
swinkin’ ;* 

De weeds is gittin’ jewy—we mus’ push de bizniss fas’, 

Dar’s a little jug behin’ us jes a-waitin’ in de grass. 

(You fellers stop your co’tin’ tell you hear me raise de 
chune, 


_An’ you better medjer ee is cloud dat’s slidin’ ’cross 


de moon !) 
Now cl’ar your th’oats an’ hep’ me jes’ sing a song or 
two; 


We'll start out wid de “J cian Gals ” an’ see what 


we kin do: 


JOHNSON GALS. 


Oh! taint nuffin’ tall like de Johnson gals, 
For dey bangs all de county out! 

Folks on de creek gwine to look mighty sharp 
When de Johnson gals come ’bout ; 

Dey libs in de quarters on de j’inin’ place, 
Right close to de en’ o’ de lane; 

Dey’s sweet as de hole in de’’lases bar’] 

_ An’ nice as de sugar-cane! » 


CHORUS. 


Den, cl’ar de track for de Johnson gals! 
Johnson gals!! 
Johnson gals!!! 
Oh! cl’ar de track for de Johnson gals! 
Johnson gals is de gals for me! ! 
See eee eee ee eee ee ee amen nema 


* Shrinking. 


10 UNCLE GABE AT THE CORN-SHUCKING. 


Oh! nigger wuk hard in de new groun’ trac’, 
An’ he git mighty tired in de plantin’ ; 

But he sing jes’ same as a frog in de swamp, 
When de ebenin’ sun go to slantin’ ; 

No matter ef de plow-p’int hit ’g’in de rocks, 
An’ de day git hot as it please, 

He know he gwine to see dem Johnson gals 
When de moon clammin’ up froo de trees ! 


De morkin’ sing when de bright day breakin’, 
An’ he wake up de bushes all aroun’ ; 

But he aint half sweet as de old whipperwill, 
Dat sing when de sun gone down! 

De morkin’ tell you when to hitch up de team, 
An’ he call out de niggers to de hoes ; 

De whipperwill talk ’bout de Johnson gals, 
’Cause he sing when de moon done rose! ! 


Den, far’ you well, Miss Susie, dear, 
Far’ you well, Miss Jane! 
I gwine out to see dat sweet bunch o’ gals 
Dat lib at de en’ o’ de lane! 
Far’ you well, my old true love, 
I aint got time to stay ! 
I been out long wid de Johnson gals, 
An’ dey stole my heart away. 


- (At this stage of the musical entertainment, Uncle 
Gabe was accidentally struck on the head by an ear of 
corn, thrown from the hand of some one sitting behind 
him. The interruption called forth something like the 
following parenthetical observation in stalwart prose: 
“Lookee ’ere! what club-foot vilyun flung dat corn? 


NEIGHBORS. © 1} 


You kin shuck jes’ as well widout bu’s’in’ de bark dat 
way! You settin’ in de wrong place, ’way back dar, 
anyhow! Ef you piny woods niggers can’t tell de top 
o my head fum de pile o’ clean corn, you better go 
home; an’ ef you aint got ’nough strenk in your arm 
to pitch a ear o’corn ten foot, you better lay down an’ 
res’ awhile! Brer Ab, you lif? de nex’ chune ; my head 
gone to yoonin’ same as a bumbler-bee nes’ !’’) 
, J. A. Macon. 


NEIGHBORS. 


Wee that a-coming up the path? 
Run, Betsey Jane, and see; 

V’ll bet it’s hateful old Miss Jones - 
A-comin’ here to tea! 

Miss Perkins, is it? deary me! 
I’d rather hear it thunder— 

She’s allers out a-tattlin’— 
What brings her here, I wonder? 


I hope she’s only come to call— 
Don’t ask her, dear, to stay ; 

For, if you urged her hard enough 
She’d never go away. 

Of all the wimmen that I know 
Miss Perkins beats them holler ; 

She’s comin’ here to spy around, 
Tl bet a silver dollar. 


She’s got her old. silk bonnet on, 
It’s older than the hills! 
I’m sure it looks redickerlous 


oa All ruffles; tucks, and frills : 


NEIGHBORS. 


Good gracious me! she’s got her work— 
I'll hev to get my knittin’; 

I s’pose you knew Bill Smith had give 
Her darter Ann the mitten. 


Come in! Miss Perkins, is that you ? 
Tur desprit glad you’ve come; 
For, as I said to Betsey Jane, 
The house seems awful dumb! 
Miss Perkins, take the rockin’-chair, 
An’, Betsey, take her bonnet ; 
Be sure you put it where the flies 
An’ dust won’t get upon it. 


Sez I, not half an hour ago, 
Sez I to Betsey Jane 

I wonder where Miss Perkins is, 
Why don’t she come again ? 

Sez I, I hope she’ll come to-day 

_ If nothin’s up to hinder ; 

She’s comin’ now, says Betsey Jane, 

A-lookin’ out the winder. 


Miss Perkins, take a pinch of snuff 
An’ tell us all the news, 
I-haven’t heard ’em in so long 
I’ve almost got the blues. 
Miss Johnson got a new silk dress! 
Miss Perkins, well, I never! 
I wonder if she really thinks 
Her money’! last forever! 


Miss Perkins, yes, I was at church; 
Now want you glad to hear 
a 


} 


leet 
ofa 

4a 
: = 
> 


< 


NEIGHO ORS. 


The preacher preach so plain on dress? 
It hit some folks so clear! 

Miss Primrose colored, like a beet— 
You know she wore a feather; 

An’ Sarah Grimes was awful mad— 
It hit ’em both together. 


I wonder if Squire Pettibone 
Hain’t got a bran new wig? 

I really do dislike that man, 
He feels so awful big! 

You saw him walking t’other night 
Along with Katherine Snyder? 
Miss Perkins, that’]l make a match, 

[ll bet a pint of cider. 


The deacon’s son is waitin’ on 

_ Miss Grimes’ cousin Rose— 
What for, do you suppose ? 

I hardly think he’ll marry her ; 
His father won’t be willin’, 

For she’s as poor as poor can be— 
She isn’t worth a shillin’. 


I suppose you knew Mariar Smith © 
Had named her darter Lily ; 

Vd call her Cabbage, Hollyhock— 
That aint a bit more silly. 


Miss Perkins, have you heard about 
That fuss with Peleg Brown? 
- You hain’t! Why goodness, gracious me, 
It’s all about the town! 


14 


NETGHBORS. 


They think he cheats his customers 
A-sellin’ salaratus, 

An’ say they’ve ketched his oldest son 
A-stealin’ green tomatoes. 


Of course you’ve heard the talk that’s round 
About the widder Hatch; — 

They say she’s after Thomas Sweet, 
And that’ll be a match. 

Her husband haint been dead six months, 
An’ now she wants another ; 

She’d never be my da’ter-in-law, 
If I was Thomas’ mother. 


Have I heard of the weddin’? No! 
Who, underneath the sun ? 

John Wait and Huldy Robinson! 
Miss Perkin’s, you’re in fun ; 

Why, he’s as much as fifty-two, 
And Huldy isn’t twenty ; 

But then you know the reason why— 
The old fool’s cash is plenty. 


Miss Perkins, now, ’twixt you and I, 
My Betsey an’ your Ann 
Are smart as any girls in town 
Deservin’ of a man. 
That spruce young clerk in Woodard’s store, 
As I was just remarkin’, 
Was here till ten last Sunday night— 
I guess he thinks o’ sparkin’. 


Miss Perkins, are you going now? 
One thing I’d like to know— 


DAT YALLER GOWN. 18 


_ (Go bring her bonnet, Betsey Jane)— 


What makes you hurry so? 
Your bonnet’s just as nice as new— 
T swan it’s right in fashion ; 
Them ruffles an’ them gethers here 
Are really very dashin’. 


Oh:! yes, Miss Perkins, I shall come. 
You must come down ag’in; 

You haven’t been here in so long, 
It really is a sin! 

Good a’ternoon! Yes, Betsey Jane 
Shall come an’ see your da’ter. 

There! Isshe gone? I really hope 
She got what she was a’ter! 


In all my life I never did 


See such a tattlin’ critter. 
They ought to call her “ Scandal Bones ”== 
I’m sure the name would fit her. \ 
Is’pose I must return her call, 
But I wasn’t sociable at all. 


DAT YALLER GOWN. 


Ly de cutes’ pickaninny 
Eber bo’n in dis heah town ; 


-Dey’s none sich in ole Virginny 


As him in dat yaller gown. 


yo’ nebber seed a chile so kearful 
’*Bout his cloze; dey’s al’us clean; 


_ Jes’ to speck ’em hurts ‘im fearful— 


De proudes’ chile yo’ ebber seen! © 


i6 


DAT YALLER GOWN. 


Bress his heart! Jes’ heah ’im holler? 
Han’sum, aint he? Like his dad; 

De gander, now, he’s tryin’ to foller; 
Down he goes! Dat makes him mad. 


Jump up spry, now, Alexander ; 
Kearful! Doan ye see dat mud ? 
Heah me, chile! yo’ll riz my dander,’ 

If ye sile dat bran new dud! 


Stop dis instep! stop dat sprawlin’! 
Hi! yo’ Alexander Brown! 

Dar’s a puddle, an’ yer crawlin’ 
To’ard it wid yer yaller gown! 


See yo’self, now, jes a-drippin’ 
Wid dat black degustful sile, 
Keeps me half de time a-strippin’ 
Off yer cloze—ye nasty chile. 


Pay distenshum whan I holler! 

’*Fo’ de Lawd! chile, suah’s yer bo’n, 
If I ebber see yo’ waller 

In dat hole ag’in, yer gone. 


Come dis way! Yes, dat’s my t’ankin’; 
Nex’ time look out whar ye go; 
Yer desarvin’ sich a spankin’ 


As yer nebber had befo’! 


Aint yer ’shamed, yeh good-fo’-nuffin’ 
Little niggah ? ’T sarved ye right, 
Case yer al’us inter suffin’ 
Silin’, if it’s in yer sight. 


THE MUTILATED CURRENCY QUESTION. 17 


Dar ; now what’s de good in bawlin’? 
Dat won’t slick yer gown ag’in ; 
Yo’ air de wustest ’coon fer crawlin’ 
In de mud I ebber seen. 
CHARLES H. TURNER, 


THE MUTILATED CURRENCY QUESTION, 


“7 CAN’T take that nickel,” said a horse-car conductor 
to a man who got in at the City Hall. 

“Vat vos de matter mit dat goin?” asked the passen- 
ger blandly. 

“Tt’s no good. It’s got a hole it,” replied the con- 
ductor gruffly. 

“Ish dot so? Off you plase show me dot hole.” 

“Look at it. We can’t take any such money as 
that.” . 

“Oxcuse me,” smiled the passenger, and he handed 
over a dime. 

“ 'That’s worse yet,” growled the conductor. 

“Vas dot dime full of holes too?” asked the passen- 
ger, looking up innocently. 
_“ Here’s a whole side chipped out. We aint allowed to 
take mutilated money,’ and the conductor handed it back. 

“So?” inquired the passenger, “ hav you got changes 
for heluf a dollar?” and he passed over another coin. 

“ What's this?” asked the conductor, contemptuously, 
* Tt’s as bald as a deacon. There ain’t a scratch on it 
te show whether it’s an overcoat button or a skating 
rink. Haven’t you got any money ?” 

“Vell I should make smiles!” said the passenger, 
good-humeredly. “Here is fifo tollar, and you can 


18 WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK. 


baste it together ven you got some leisures. Haf you 
‘got changes off dot fife dollars?” and he handed over a 
bill torn in four or eight pieces. 

“I don’t want no more fooling,’ said the conductor. 
“If you can’t pay your fare get off” 

“Vell, don’t make so many droubles. I vill bay 
you,” and he pulled out a Mexican quarter. ‘“ Gif me 
bennies,” he suggested. 

“ Look here, are you going to pay your fare, or not ?” 
“Of gourse. May be you vas vating for dat moneys,” 
and he took back his ra and submitted an English 
sixpence. 

“ Now you get off this car!’ roared the conductor. 

“Vere has dose cars got by?” asked the passenger, 
rising to obey. 

“Fulton Ferry!” said the conductor. 

“Den I may as vell get owit. You dell dem gompa- 
nies dot some dimes dey make more money as oder dimes, 
off dey dook voteffer dey got, instead of going mitout 
nodings, don’t it ?” 

And the smiling passenger, having ridden to the end 
of the line, crossed the ferry, observing to himself: 
* Dot vas petter off I safe such moneys, und some dimes 
I go owit to East Nyarich, und it don’d gost me ne 


more as nodings at all.” 
8 BrRooKkLyn EAGLE. 


WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK. 


TRANGER here? Yes, come from Varmont, 
Rutland County. You’ve hearn tell, 
‘Mebbe, of the town of Granville? 
You born there? No! Sho! Well, weil! 


WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK. 19 


You was born at Granville, was you? 
Then you know Elisha Brown, 
Him as runs the old meat market 
At the lower end of town? 
Well, well, well! Born down in Granville, 
And out here, so far away ! 
Stranger, I’m home sick already, 
Though it’s but a week to-day 
Since I left my good wife standin’ 
Out there at the kitchen door, 
_ Sayin’ she’d ask God to keep me; 
And her eyes were runnin’ o’er. 
You must know old Albert Wither 
Henry Bull, and Ambrose Cole, 
Know them all! And born in Granville? 
Well, well, well! God bless my soul! 
Sho! you’re not old Isaac’s nephew, 
Isaac Green, down on the flat, 
Isaac’s oldest nephew—Henry ? 
Well, I'd never thought of that! 
Have I got a hundred dollars 
I could loan you for a minute, 
Till you buy a horse at Marcy’s? 
-There’s my wallet! Just that in it! 
Hold on, though! You have ten, mebbe, 
You could let me keep ; you see 
_I might chance to need a little 
Betwixt now and half-past three. 
Ten. That’sit; you’ll owe me ninety; 
_ Bring it round to the hotel. 
So you’re old friend Isaac’s nephew ? 
Born in Granville! Sho! Well, well! 
What! Policeman! Did you call me? 


20 . PAT’S LETTER, 


That a rascal going there ? 
Well, sir, do you know I thought so, 

And I played him pretty fair ; 
Hundred-dollar bill I gave him 

Counterfeit—and got his ten! 
Ten ahead! No! You don’t tell me! 

This bad, too! Sho! Sold again! 

ANON. 


— 


PAT’S LETTER. 


ELL, Mary, me darlint, ’'m landed at last, 
And troth, though they tell me the st’amer was 
fast 

It sames as if years upon years had gone by 
Since Paddy looked intill yer beautiful eye! 
For Amerikay, darlint—ye’ll think it is quare— 
is twinty times furder than Cork from Kildare; 
And the say is that broad, and the waves are that high, 
Ye’re tossed, like a fut-ball, ’twixt wather and shky ; 
And ye fale like a pratie just burstin’ the shkin, 
That all ye can do is to howld yersilf in. 
Ochone! but, me jewel, the say may be grand: 
But whin ye come over, dear, thravel,by land! 


It’s a wondherful counthry this—so I am towld— 

Ihey’ll not look at guineas, so chape is the gowld; 

And the three that poor mother sewed into my coat 

[ sowld for a thrifle, on l’aving the boat, 

And the quarest of fashions ye iver have seen! 

They pay ye with picters all painted in green. 

And the crowds that are rushing here, morning and 
night, 


PAT’S LETTER. 2) 


Would make the Lord Lieutenant. shake with the fright, 
_ The strates are that full that there’s no one can pass, 
And the only law is, “ Do not tread on the grass.” 
Their grass is the quarest of shows—by me vow— 

For it wouldn’t be munched by a Candlemas cow. 


Tell father I wint, as he bid me, to see 

His friend, Tim O’Shannon, from Killycaughnee. 

It’s rowling in riches O’Shannon is now, 

With a wife and tin babies, six pigs and a cow, 

In a nate little house, standing down from the strate, 

- With two beautiful rooms, and a pig-stye complate. 
I thought of ye, darlint, and dramed such a drame! 

That mebbe, some day, we'd be living the same; 

Though, troth, Tim O’Shannon’s wife niver could dare 

(Poor yaller-skinned crayther) with you to compare ; 

While as for the pigs, shure twas aisy to see 

The bastes were not mint for this land of the free. 


_ J think of ye, darlint, from morning till night ; 
_ And whin I’m not thinking, ye’re still in me sight! 

I see your blue eyes, with the sun in their glance— 
Your smile in the meadow, your fut in the dance. 

I'll love ye, and thrust ye, both living and dead! 
(Let Phil Blake look out for his carroty head!) 

Tm working, acushla, for you—only you! 

And Ill make ye a lady yit, if ye’ll be thrue; 
Though, troth, ye can’t climb Fortune’s laddher @ 

quick, 
Whin both of your shouldhers are loaded with brick. 
But I'll do it—I declare it, by—this and by that— 
‘Which manes what I daren’t say—from 
Your own Pat. 


22 THE PRAYER. 


THE PRAYER. 


WAS anight of dread in Charleston, and the air 
was thick with fear: 
Never yet had such a terror dropped its raven mantle 
here ; 
Never yet had deathly sorrow had so strange and sudden 
birth : 
As upon the visitation of this tempest of the earth. 


For the startled ground was surging as the waves of 
stormy seas, 


And the belfries of the churches fell like stricken forest 


trees, 
And the walls that long had lorded over seen and unseen 
foe ’ 


Covered thick with costly ruins this tornado from below. 


There were some who prayed God’s presence, who to 
God had long been near; 

There were some for help a Oe with repentance 
made of fear; 


There were some who raved in madness through the ° 


long and murderous night ; 
There were corses calmly waiting for a mourner’s tearful 
sight. 


And that dark race whose religion has a superstitious 
trend, | | 
And whose superstition ciambers toward an everlasting 
Friend, 


ee oe 
— -s 


THE PRAYER. 95 


They were shouting in their frenzy, or in terror meekly 
dumb, 

For they thought the opening signal of the Judgment. 
day had come. 


But there sudden rose among them one of earth’s un- 
tutored kings, 

One of those unlooked-for leaders whom an hour of 
danger brings, 

And he prayed—as souls are apt to, full of arauty 
and love— 

Partly to the souls around him, partly to the God 
above. 


And he said: “I guess it’s come, Lawd—dis yer day 


dat’s stayed so long— 

For de symptoms all aroun’ here dey be mos’ tremend- 
ous strong ; 

But we aint quite ready yet, Lawd, neber min’ how 
well prepared ; 

We feel safe in Thy good mercy, but we’re eberlastin’ 
scared ! 


- For You see we’re mos’ly human when de grave comes 


re'lly nigh, 


An’ de spirit wants its freedom, but de flesh it hates to 


die ! 

We've been teasin’ You for hebben all de summer long, 
I know; 

But we aint in half de ie dat we was awhile ago. 


ve When we come to look it over in de light ob pain an’. 
fear, 
Dere is holes in all our armor dat at first view didn’t 


appear ; 


24 THE PRAYER. 


An’ we'd like to patch ’em over, if it’s all de same to 
You; 

Put it off a yeah, for certain—or perhaps You’d make 
it two! | 


“Then we’ve got some poor relations who may neber 
see Thy face 

If dey do not earn de riches ob de sin-destroyin’ grace; 

Lord, protect dem wid Thy patience, jus’ de same like 
as before, 

An’ keep diggin’ roun’ dose fig-trees for anudder year 
or more! 


“Let dem off a little longer! In de light ob dis event 

Dey may recognize de season as a fine one to repent ! 

Dey will like Ye when dey know Ye, an’ be glad to 
enter in, 

An’ dere’s some dat’s awful good, Lawd, ef 1t wasn’t for 
deir sin ! 


“ Dis yer world has lots of fine folks, who 1s anxious, 
I’m afraid, 

Fore to pick a little longer fore dey have deir baskets 
weighed ; 

An’ dere’d be a large major’ty who would vote, 1t must 
be owned, 

For to hab de world’s big fun’ral eberlastin’ly pos’- 
poned ! 


*“An’ You know, O good dear Fathah, dat Your time is 
all home-made, 

Aa’ a thousan’ years is nothin’ m your golden steel- 
yards weighed ; 


‘THE PRAYER. 95 


Keep de same ol’ footstool yet, Lawd; hol’ it steady, I 
implore ! 
It'll maybe suit You better if you use it jes once more! 


“But ob co’se our weak-eyed wisdom’s like a rain-drop 
in de sea, 

An’ we aint got any business to be mendin’ plans for 
Thee ; : 

If it’s time to leave dese quarters an’ go somewhar else 
to board, 

Make de journey jes as easy as Your justice can afford! 


“ An’ we know You hab a fondness for de average 
human soul, 
So we'll hab consid’ble courage .at de callin’ ob de roll; 


~ You’re our sure ’nuff livin’ Fathah—You’re our 


fathah’s God an’ frien’— 
_ To de Lawd. be praise an’ glory, now an’ evermore! 
Amen!” 


"Twas a day of peace in Charleston, after many days of 
dread, 

And the shelterless were sheltered, and the hungry had 
been fed ; 

And the death-invaded city through its misery now 
could grope, 

And look forward to a future fringed with happinesg 
and hope. | 


And those faithful dusky Christians will maintain for 
evermore 
That the fervent prayers they offered. drove destruction 
from their shore; 


SPRATT Re hee RELY Mig Ate ts PASTA, Uy cd Be kan er wae ek ae 
Merah a ee ha By E 
Oye 


26 SPEAK NAE ILL. 


And how much faith moves a mountain, or commands a 
rock to stay, 
Is unknown to earthly ignorance, and for only God to 


say 
Wii .CARLETON. 


BE CONTENT. 


AW ye ne’er a lonely lassie, 
Thinkin’ gin she were a wife, 
The sun of joy wad ne’er gae down, 
But warm and cheer her a’ her life? 
Saw ye ne’er a weary wife, 
Thinkin’ gin she were a lass, 
She wad aye be blithe and cheerie, 
Lightly as the day wad pass. 


Wives and lassies, young and aged, 
Think na on each ither’s state ; 
Ilka ane it has its crosses, 
Mortal joy was ne’er complete. 
Ilka ane it has its blessings, 
Peevish dinna pass them by, 
But like choicest berries seek them, 
Tho’ among the thorns they lie. 


SPEAK NAE ILL. 


THER people have their faults, 
And so have you as well; 
But all ye chance to see or hear 
Ye have no right to teil. 


A STREET GAMIN’S STORY OF THE PLAY. N 


If ye canna speak 0’ good, » 
Take care, and see and feel ; 

Earth has all too much o’ woe, 
And not enough o’ weal. 


Be careful that ye make nae strife 
Wi meddling tongue and brain ; 
For ye will find enough to do 
If ye but look at hame. 


If ye canna speak 0’ good, 
Oh! dinna speak at all; 

For there is grief and woe enough 
On this terrestrial ball. 


If ye should feel like picking flaws, 
Ye better go, I ween, 

And read the book that tells ye all 
About the mote and beam. 


Dinna lend a ready ear 
To gossip or to strife, 

Or perhaps ’twill make for ye 
Nae sunny things of life. 


Oh! dinna add to others’ woe, 
_ Nor mock it with your mirth ; 
But give ye kindly sympathy 

To suffering ones of earth. 


A STREET GAMIN’S STORY OF THE PLAY. 


: (s small boys were looking at the large black and 
q red posters on the boards in front of a Bowery 
_ variety theatre. The larger of the boys wore a man’s 


28 A STREET GAMIN’S STORY OF THE PLAY. 


overcoat, the sleeves of which had been shortened by 
rolling them up till his red and grimy hands protruded. 
The big coat was open in front, revealing a considerable 
expanse of cotton shirt. His hands were thrust in his 
trousers’ pockets. The visor of his heavy wool cap had 
come loose, except at the ends, and it rested on his 
nose. His smaller companion wore a jacket and 
trousers that were much too smalleven for lim. His hat 
was of black felt and of the shape of a sugar loaf. His 
eyes were round with wonder at the story his friend in the 
big overcoat was telling him. It seemed to be a synopsis 
of the play, scenes in which were pictured on the boards. 

“This duffer,” said the boy, taking one hand from 
his pockets and pointing to the picture of a genteel man 
with a heavy black moustache, “is the vill’n. It 
begins wid him comin’ on the stage, and sayin’: 

“*« What, ho! Not here yet?’ 

“Then an Eyetalian wid big whiskers—he’s the 
vill‘u’s pall—comes on, and the vill’n tells him the girl 
mus’ be did away wid, so he can get the boodle. 

“* How mucha you giv-a,’ says the Eyetalian. 

“* Five thousand dollars, says the vill’n, and they 
makes the bargain. The EHyetalian is goin’ to make 
b’lieve that the girl is his’n, git her away f’m her 
friends, and kill her. While they is makin’ the bargain 
a Dutchman comes out, an’ says he: 

“Maybe yer don’t was tink I haf heard sometings, 
don’t it? I vill safe dot girl!’ 

“The next scene is in a big, fine house. An’ old 
woman all dressed up swell is tellin’ a young feller that 
the girl is heir to fifty thousand dollars, an’ dey don’t 
know who her fader and mudder was. The young 


feller tells his mudder that he don’t care who her folks 


} , 
| 


A STREET GAMIN’S STORY OF THE PLAY. 29 


was, an’ that he’ll marry her anyway, even if she is 
blind. The ole woman goes out, and a be-youtiful girl 

- comes in, pawin’ the air ’cause she’s blind and can’t see, 
and says she to the young chap: 

“¢ It can’t never be !’ 

“The feller don’t b’lieve her, an’ tells her she’s given’ 
him ah After a lot of coaxin’ she owns up that she 
is, an’ he spreads out his fins and hollers: _ 

“«Then you do love me, Marie? and she tumbles. 

“Then an ole man wid a white wig comes in—he’s 
the doctor—an’ he looks at the girl’s eyes an’ says that 
he can cure ’em but it may kill her. He takes out two 

bottles and says: 

“Tn this is sump’ n that'll put yer into a sleep. Will 
uct risk it ?” 

‘ Be this me answer,’ said the girl, an’ she swallers 
the bottle an’ tips over on the lounge. 

“Just before the doctor is goin’ to fix her eyes, the 
Kyetalian jumps in an’ says: ~ 

“¢ Where is mai poor childa?’ an’ he won’t let the 
doctor do anythin’. There is a big row, an’ the Dutch- 
man comes in an’ says : 

«She don’t vas his child.’ 

© But the Eyetalian lugs her off, an’ the vill’n—he 
turns out to be her cousin—gets all the money. 

“The next scene is in the street. The Eyetalian an’ 
the be-youtiful girl all dressed in rags comes along, and 
she says: 

“Tm s-0-0 tired.’ 

“¢ How mucha money you gotta?’ says the Eyetalian, 
an’ she says she haint got no money. Then he goes to 
kill her, an’ the Dutchman hops out an’ yells: 

“¢ You macaroni dago,’ an’ the Hyetalian lights out. 


0 A STREET GAMIN’S STORY OF THE PLAY. 


“ The Dutchman he takes the girl into his house, ar 
comes out into the street. The girl’s feller comes along, 
an’ while they is talkin’ the Eyetalian sneaks back and 
steals the girl away. But the Dutchman’s dog follers 
_him and shows the way to the cop an’ the Dutchman 
when they finds out that the girl is gone. They find 
her in a place where lots of Eyetalians is playin’ poker. 
There’s a big row agin, an’ the girl is took out an’ car- 
ried back to her home. In the row the Eyetalian gets 
all chawed up by the Dutchman’s dog, the cop lugs him 
off, an’ he’s sent up for ten years. 

“In the last act the girl’s eyes has been fixed, an’ 
she’s sittin’ on the piazzer. The papers has been found 
an’ the vill’n has hollered, ‘ I’m |-host, I’m l’host !’ The 
girl is sayin’ how glad she'll be to see her feller an’ 
look into his eyes, when the Eyetalian, who has skipped 
the ranch, comes cr-e-e-pin’ along in striped togs, an’ says 
he to hisself: 


“* T will now have mia r-r-ey ene? ; 


“The lights is turned down, an’ the big fiddle sis 


zub-zub, zub-zub. 

“The Eyetalian creeps up and grabs the OL Ah 
young girl and hollers, ‘I will killa you! an’ pulls a 
big knife out of his breeches’ pocket. The young girl 
yells, an’ jest as he’s going to jab her wid the knife, 
they all rushes in, an’ the darkey pulls out a pop an’ 


lets the Eyetalian have it in the ribs, and the Eyetalian © 
tumbles down an’ squirms, an’ the be-youtiful young 


girl faints away in her feller’s arms, an’ down goes the 
curtain.” 
ANON. 


= ee 


OVER THE CROSSIN’. 81 


OVER THE CROSSIN’. 


“ QYHINE? shine, sor? Ye see, I’m just a-dien: 
Ter turn yer boots inter glass 
Where ye’ll see all the sights in the winders 
*Ithout lookin’ up as yer pass. 
Seen me before? I’ve no doubt, sor; 
I’m punctooal haar, yer know, 
Waitin’ along the crossin’ 
Fur a little un’, name o’ Joe; . 
My brother, sor, an’ a cute un’, 
Ba’ly turned seven, an’ small, — 
; But gettin’ his livin’ grad’ely 
: Tendin’ a bit uv a stall 
Fur Millerkins down the av’nue; 
Yer kin bet that young un’s smart— 
Worked right in like a vet’run 
BN Since th’ old un’ gin ’im a start. 


* Folks say he’s a picter o’ father, 
Once mate o’ the ‘ Lucy Lee’— 
Lost when Joe wor a baby, 
Way off in some furrin sea. 
Then mother kep’ us together, 
Though nobody thought she would, 
: _ An’ worked an’ slaved an’ froze an’ starved 
Uz long uz ever she could. 
- An’ since she died an’ left us, 
- A couple o’ year ago, 
We've kep’ right on in Cragg Alley, 
A-housekeepin’—I an’ Joe. — 
I'd just got my kit when she went, sor, 


32 


OVER THE CROSSIN’. 


An’ people helped us a bit, 
So we managed to get on somehow ; 

Joe wus allus a brave little chit ; 
An’ since he’s got inter bisness, 

Though we don’t ape princes an’ sich, 
*Taint of’n we git right hungry, 

An’ we feel pretty tol’able rich. 


*T used to wait at the corner, 
Jest over th’ other side; 
But the notion o’ bein’ tended 
Sort o’ ruffled the youngster’s pride, 
So now I only watches 
To see that he’s safe across ; 
Sometimes it’s a bit o’ waitin’, 
But, bless yer, ’taint no loss! 
Look! there he is now, the rascal ! 
Dodgin’ across the street 
Ter s’prise me—an’—look! Im goin’= 
He’s down by the horses’ feet !” 


Suddenly all had happened— 
The look, the cry, the spring, 
The shielding Joe as a bird shields 
Its young with sheltering wing; 
Then up the full street of the city 
A pause of the coming rush, 
And through all the din and the tumult, 
A painful minute of hush ; 
A tumble of scattered brushes, 
As they lifted him up to the walk, 
A gathering of curious faces, 
And snatches of whispered talk; 


t 
Ee a ee ee 


THEY BOY OV OURN. 33 


Little Joe all trembling beside him 
On the flagging, with gentle grace 

Pushing the tangled, soft brown hair 
Away from the still, white face. 

At his touch the shut lids lifted, 
And swift over lip and eye 

_ Came a glow as when the morning 

Flushes the eastern sky ; 

And a hand reached out to his brother, 
As the words came low but clear— 

* Joe, I reckon ye mind our mother: 

A minute back she wor here, 

Smilin’ an’ callin’ me to her! 

- I tell ye, Pm powerful glad 

Yer such a brave, smart youngster: 
The leavin’ yer aint so bad. 

Hold hard to the right things she learnt us, 
An’ allus keep honest an’ true; 

Good-bye, Joe—but mind, I’ll be watchin’ 
Just—over—tbe crossin’—fur you !” 

SPRINGFIELD REPUBLICAN. 


~~ = 


YOET BOY OV OURN. 


HY. Jevds S-ey, as Pm alive! Come in an’ take 


a cheer; 
Ye hain’t be’n ia for quite a spell—it seems a’most a 
‘year. 
[ tho’t I heerd a rappin’ tew, an’ yit I wa’n’t quite 
shoar, 


But I hadn’t the slight’st idee, my child, thet you was 
at the door. 
3 


$4 THET BOY OV OURN. 


Take off yer things. No? Jes’ drop’t in? Why, 
Linda, can’t ye stay? 

I’m lo’some now since Dan’l’s ded; I miss ’im ev’ry day. 

*Twould cheer me up ef ye wd stop, for when I set 
alone 

I think uv thet wild boy uv ourn, an’ grieve, an’ sigh, 
an’ groan. 


I know it’s—mighty weak—in me to take on so’fore 


you, 
(Why can’t—I find thet—hankercher) an’ yit what kin 
I deu? 


so Nee ee a 


Ef’t want fer sheddin’ now an’ shbht I think my heart 


ud bust, 


Fer in sortin’ out our trials I b’leve the Lord gev me 


the wust. 


Mebbe ye’d like to heer, my chile, jes’ what I’ve hed to 
bear ; 


{ haint Be many people yit—ther haint be’n many 


here. 
I’m a’most allus feered to start I git to snifflin’ so, 


But I'll try to keep the flood-gates shet an’ not go ‘long — 


tew slow. 


Jes’ fifteen year ago this month, on a shiny Sabbith — 


morn, 


Es the bells wuz ringin’ fer sinner an’ saint, thet boy uv 


ourn wuz born. 


We gev the boy a Script’ral name which wuz Eliakim; 
But, Linda Grey, thet godly name wuz very onfit fer 


him. 


. 
i 
é 


THET BOY OV OURN. 38 


{ spoze ther’s some good reason why our futur’s allus 
’ sealed, 


: An’ p’raps it’s jes’ as well fer me thet mine haint be’n 


revealed ; 


Rut ef I’d know’d a leetle ahead, I’d made some things 


more trim 


By namin’ thet boy Beelzebub instid uv Eliakim, 


Heigh hum! 


- Dan’l an’ me set hope on Li, our fust an’ only child, 


3 


Fer we b’leved the Lord thet Sabbith day had looked 
on him an’ smiled: 
So ’fore he’d be’n on airth we both on us agreed 


To make a preacher outen ’im for sowin’ the blessid 


seed. 


But life is mighty thwartin’, chile (I feered I’d act this 


way), 


: 'N it’s no, use layin’ o’ plans, I find —not even fer to-day 


& 


Age ee Rete 


An’, Linda, you may profit by one moril I hey gleaned, 
its never chuse yer child’s career a year afore it’s 
weaned. 


Resumin’ , Liakim grow’d an’ thruva an’ made me worlds 


0 care, 


Fer instid 0’ sowin’ the seed, I feered he’d nike. a sower 


o’ tare. 
He never tuck to useful books, an’ tore up all my tracks, 
He liked sech works es “Snakefoot Jim,” with flarin’ 
yeller backs. 


{ had ter thrash ’im ev’ry day, an’ Sundays allus twice; 
Fer tho’ I talked a heap tew im I used the strap fer 
spice ; 


36 THET BOY OV _OURN. 


But the more I talked an’ the more I strapped the wus 
he seemed to git, 

An’ one night Dan’l askt o’ me ef ’twan’t about time to 
quit. 


* Jane,” sez he (I see ’im now a closin’ the blessid book) 

“T’gin to fear we've missed our pints a viewin’ the 
course we've took. 

I'd think es soon o’ countin’ the stars, or spungin’ up 
the sea, 

Ex drivin’ thet boy ter Zion, an’ makin’ ’im bend the 
knee. 


“T tell ye, wife, our tactics’ wrong, we’ve ben a heap 
tew strict, 

The strap’s a good subdooar shoar, but never will convict. 

Take this advice, or never hope to realize your dream ; 

Use milk o’ human kindness some, an’ don’t skim off the 
cream.” 


“ Dan’l Clack,” sez I, “look here”—fer I got rates 
vexed— 

“Sence you’ve sot out to preach tew me I’ll jes’ give ye 
a text: 

‘Spare the rod an’ spile the chile ;’ you’ve sed the same 
afore ; 

So while ther’s life I’ll persevere, an’ talk an’ thrash the 
more.” 


He didn’t say a single word, but look’d at me so sad; 
(I never speak o’ that—somehow—but what I break out 
bad.) 


THET BOY OV OURN. 37 


Fer though we've traveled side by side fer nigh to twenty 
year, 

Thet wuz the fust an’ unly time thet things got out 0’ 
gear. 


‘What? Seven o’clock? I’m keepin’ ye; I’m a’most 
done, my chile, 

‘Liakim grow’d no better fast, an’ I got fairly wild; 

_ An’ the more I struv, the more he struv, an’ got from 
bad to wus, 

Until fer stubbornness I tho’t he’d beat the most pervus. 


He kind o’ tuck to Dan somehow mor’n he did to me, 

An’ how the man controlled the chile I wan’t quite 

y clear tew see, 

But now them words flow through my mind in one con- 
tinuous stream, 

“ Use the milk 0’ aes kindness some, an’ don’t skim 
off the cream.” Heigh hum! 


_I tried to keep ’im in the house, an’ from corruptin’ 


boys; 
But he’d git out an’ jine the gang, an’ top the rest fer 
noise. 
He’d play fer keeps, an’ go to shows, an’ run to all the 
| fires, 


Till I ’most tho’t my fondest hopes were nothin’ but 
vain desires. 


He come a shameful thing on me in open church one 
day, 
I'd led ’im to the anxious seat to hev ’im seek the way; 


SE OL et EVER Pt Ny, pity een tae keel ny) SNL We WIA PLD SAUER ANP tet a A a a Se aris 
EAR LOR CT LS eR D ON ON ee 
a Ea ; , PRES VUh a mai to 2 e 


38 THET BOY OV OURN. 


But afore I got thet torment down, he slipped his hand 
an’ run, 

An’ left me standin’, while the folks wuz snickerin’ et 
the fun. 


But after awhile the climack came, as climacks will, ye 
know, 

An’ then I ’gin to b’leve ’twuz true thet “ Life’s a fleetin’ 
show.” | 

You see I hed one Bible, chile, I allus kep’ fer nice— 

I think in fifteen year or more, I used it only twice. 


But one day our good old elder called, so I got out thet 
book, 

An’ when he ’gin to hunt the place I stood ss? horror 
struck— 

Fer in betwixt them precious leaves, an’ right afore 
Elder Slim, 

Wuz scattered a pack o’ greasy keards that b’ longed to — 
’Liakim. 


"Course I fainted thar an’ then, an’ Elder Slim went’ 

| home, | 

I tuck so sick ’twas thirteen days afore I left my room; — 

But afore I tuck I flailed thet ’Li,in a way I’d call 

intense, | 

An’ thet same night he lef’ the house an’ hain’t ben — 
nigh it sence. 


' 


Wal, chile, ’twas terrible bad for me an’ made my spirits 
| low 
To think I struv so powerful hard, fer Satan tew flank § 
me so; 1 


Ne ee 


THE TRIBULATIONS OF BIDDY MALONE. 39 


An’ then (I hev to ery or drown) ’ ef I hadn't enough 
~ tew bear, 
Dan’ he tuck the aning so hard—he died—in less ’n a 
year. 


An’ now I’m spendin’ this life alone; no husban’, nor 
no boy ; 
An’ bidin’ the time when I shill try a life without alloy ; 
But, chile, ef you should hey a son an’ chuse the 
preacher’s scheme, 
Try milk o’ human kindness shoar, and don’t skim off 


the cream. — | 
. JERE Dr Brown. 


THE TRIBULATIONS OF BIDDY MALONE, 


OR answered tin advortoisements in two days, but 
niver a place I got at all, at all. The furrest quis- 
tion they ax me is, “Can ye cook?’ And whin I say 
‘Tl thry,” they tell me I’ll not suit. Shure a body 
would think there was nothing in the worruld to do but 

-eook, cook, cook ; bad luck to the cookin’. ITve been 

in the country jist four weeks nixt Tchuesday, and this 
is Monday, and I’ve had enough of yer Yankee cookin’, 
and [ll have no more of it. 

Tve lost three places already with this cookin’, shure. 
The furrest lady, sez she, “Can ye cook?’ Sez I, 
“Shure, mum, I can that, for it’s ee murphy I’ve 
cooked at me home beyant the sea.” So I wint into 
the kitchen, an’ me thrunk wint up to the attic. Sez 
the missus, afther a while, “ Bridget, he s a turkey; 
shtuff it an roast it.” | 

Well, at two o’clock she comes into the kitchen, and 


40 THE TRIBULATIONS OF BIDDY MALONE. 


sez she, “ Bridget, how is it ye are so late wid the dine 
ner. Isn’t the turkey done yet?” SezI, “ I'll see, mum.” 
TI wint to the pot an took off the lid. “ Look, mum,” 
sez I. ‘“ You’ve burnt the fowel to paces,” sez she. 
Sez I, “Shure you tould me to stuff the burd and roast 
it; so I shtuffed it into the pot.” Well, meself and me 
thrunk left that same noight. 

The nixt place I wint the lady was troubled wid a 
wakeness. Sez she, “ Biddy, dear, ye’ll foind a piece of 
bafe in the refrigeratorio ; git it and make me some bafe 
tea.” Well, afther huntin’ all over for the refrigera- 
torio, I found the mate in a chist forninst a chunk of ice. 
I put the mate in a tea-pot an’ lit it dhraw fur a few 
minuts, an’ thin I took it to the missus, wid a cup, a 
saucer, an’ a shpoon. “ Biddy, dear,’ sez she, “ ye 
needen’t moind a sendin’ for your thrunk.” So I lost 
that place, too. ‘ 

The nixt place was an ould widower’s house; he had 
two lazy childer; wan was twinty an’ the other was 
twinty, too; they were twins, ye see. Well, the butcher 
brought some oysters. Sez the lazy twins, “ We'll have 


thim shtewed.” Well, I did shtew thim, but the shpal- - 


peens discharged me because I biled thim like praties 
wid their jackets on. 


So here I am, this blessed day, a poor, lone gurl, sak- 


ing a place atsarvice. Bad luck to the Yankee cookin’. 
Well, Pll shtop at one more place—let me see. Yis, 
here’s the advertoisement: ‘ Wanted, a gurl in a shmall 


family consisting of thirteen childer an’ two adults.” — 


Well, I’d rather do their work, even if it was a big 


family, than be bothered with shtuffed turkey, bafe tea, — 


er shtewed oysters. I'll call on the shmall family. 
GEORGE M. VICKERs, 


‘ 
1 


ie " 
a 


e pes * 
— 
site. 


% 


THE EARTHQUAKE IN EGYPT. _ 4} 


THE EARTHQUAKE IN EGYPT. 


A “FOOL PA’SON” AND A WAYWARD SISTER 
RECONCILED. 


N the night of the earthquake shock I was sitting 
with Millie, my fourteen-year-old colored protege, 
conning over her lesson just opposite me, when there 
was a knock. Millie answered the summons, but dodged 
back precipitately as she recognized the dusky face of 
the deacon of the colored church. 

“ Evenin’, Sist’?’ Harris; evenin’, Madam,” said the 
caller, shambling in with an obsequious bow. “I call’, 
Sist? Harris, fo’ to ’vite you down to meet de trustees ; 
we is bout to hol’ a meetin’, and we ’poses to rivesticate 
dis little diff’ence twix you an’ de pa’son.” 

“Hum,” grunted my protege; “ I—I ain’ meetin’ no 
trustees dis night. I got no diff’ence wiv de pa’son. 
He lets me ’lone, I lets him ’lone. Dat’s my ’ligion, 
dat is.” 

“J-y-ye bettah be a-answerin’ to de summons. I 
’vises ye as a frien’ to be a-givin’ in yo’ side of de treble 
whilst de do’ am open to ye, Sist’ Millie. Ye bettah be 
a-comin’.” 

“ Now, I tol’ you I aint a-comin’,” repeated the obdu- 
rate sister. “ Ye kin jes’ be steppin’ back fo’ you pains 
an’ tell dat wall-eyed pa’son I got no use fo’ him, ne 
how, an’ neber did hab, an’ I aint a-carin’ waver dey 
infirms me de nex’ church meetin’ or not. Now git; 
ye need’en be-a-standin’ dah, fo’ [ ain’ a-comin’, an’ dat’s 
de en’ on it.” 

“ Ah? Gist’ Millie, dis ain’ no way fo’ a sist’ to ack. 
But de deble.am hol’in’ sway in yo’ heart, suah, an’ I 


42 ‘THE EARTHQUAKE IN EGYPT. 


leabes ye to him diniquitous powah, Sist’ Millie. J 
ieabes ye to him, till de Good Lo’d kem along wid de 
rolling an’ rumblin’ an’ shakin of de foun’ations of de 


yearth, an’ den ye’ll be glad to git up an’ kem ag’in.” 


With which warning he shambled off. © 

“Deed, I ain’ goin’ to no church meetin’,” growled 
Millie, “fo’ no ol’ fool niggah pa’son dat eber brow 
bref.” 

“ What is the trouble, Millie?” I ventured. 

“Why, y’ see, Miss,” explained Millie, with her run- 
ning tongue; “I has de stif neck las’ Sunday, an’ I lays 
down on de seat in de meetin’, an’ de pa’son he kem 
steppin’ ‘long an’ ses he, ‘Sist’ Millie, w-w-wah you 
sittin’ dat way fo’? Why dun yo’ sit up an’ ac’ ina 


sist’s place? An’ I answers up, ‘ W-w-wah yu’ treblin’ — 


*bout me fo’? I—I ac’ as much in asist’s place as yo’ does 
in a brudder’s place.’ Den he ses, ‘ Look out dah, Sist’ 
Millie, de deble am gettin’ de uppah han’ ob you, suah. 


Try fo’ to shame de deblea little longer. Try fo’ to hol’ 


to grace yet awhile.’ Den I gets mad an’ I jes’ sasses him 
good. I tol’ him I kin git de deble in me jes as well 
as he kin in him, an’ I kin hol’ him a heep longer, 
an’ I ain’ no ways anxious to be infirmed into de chu’ch 
ao how. Den he shet up an’ dun say no mo’, but af’er 
dat he hab de insurance to ask me to pray. Oh!” 
with a contemptuous shrug, “dat ol’ fool nigger pa’son 
beat the insurance of de deble he sef, he hab, suah !” 


After this summing up of their differences Millie sat — 


down to her book, but I noticed that she was ill at ease, 
and that the sound of voices from the colored church 
as they reached us through the window seemed to dis- 
turb her. Suddenly my book began to sway before my 
eyes, and then I saw Millie’s head begin to wag from 


Ry hl SO ah Ne ON Sane AS ah eS ey es Paty eR at Ne anti, YAP Py se Le Tuleh Bhide fp A! 
ay Fs) id 4, ar ey) MeN 
s ‘ A ’ 5 
Sd rd , 
3 y 4 
ti 
4 


THE EARTHQUAKE IN EGYPT. 43 


side to side while her white-rimmed eyes rolled in ter- 
ror. 

“ Millie, what are you doing?” 

“L—od, Miss, I—I—I ain’ a-doin’ nuffin, but de_ 
hul yearth am a-trem’lin’!” she gasped through her 
chattering teeth. Then, with a wild leap across the 
table, she cried: “Oh! fo’ de Lo’d, mistcss, it am de 
Judgmen’ Day! It am de A’mighty kumin’ wiv de 
rollin’ an’ rumblin’ an’ shakin’ of de yearth! Hol’ on,. 
Mis’er Deble! Tse gwine, deed Tis! Ah, yes, Massa 
Lo’d, dis niggah will be on han’!” with which she rushed 
through the door and went fiying toward the colored 
church, uttering exclamatory prayers and promises at 
every leap. Before the church-door she tumbled into a 
group of kneeling deacons, all praying vociferously. 
No one had the “insurance” to ask Millie to pray, but 
she joined the chorus of voices without invitation. 
After the shock had subsided and their terror somewhat 
abated, the “fool niggah pa’son” stumbled to his feet, 
and, spreading his shaking hands above the heads of hig 


_ prostrate flock, said: 


* Bredern in de Lo’d, an’ fellah sist’s, dis am a wa’nin’ 
f’om de A’mighty strait an’ cl’ar fo’ us as is ’clined to 
fall f?om grace, fo’ us as de deble am a-reachin’ arter, 
to stan’ cleah of he grip! Hol’ fas’ to de Lo’d, O my 
chil’en! fo’ de deble am neah at han’! Heam a-movin’ 
de bery foundation ob de yearth! Oh! yes, dat am a 
fac’!” “Ahmen! Bress de Lo’d!” answered the breth- 
ren, and “ Oh! yes, dat ama fac’!” echoed Millie. “He 
was neah at han’ dis time, suah.” 


44 WINNIE’S WELCOME. 


WINNIE’S WELCOME. 


ELL, Shamus, what brought ye? 
It’s dead, sure, I thought ye— 
What’s kept ye this fortnight from calling on me? 
Stop there! Don’t be lyin’ ; 
It’s no use denyin’ ; 
I know you’ve been sighin’ for Kitty Magee. 


She’s ould and she’s homely ; 
There’s girls young and comely ‘ 
Who’ve loved you much longer and better than she; 
But, deed! I’m not carin’ ; 
I’m glad I’ve no share in 
The love of a boy who'd love Kitty Magee. 


Go ’way! I’m not cryin’! 
Your charge I’m denyin’, 
You’re wrong to attribute such weakness to me; 
If tears ’'m a showin’, 
I'd have ye be knowin’, 
They’re shed out of pity for Kitty Magee. 


For mane and consated, 
With pride over-weighted ; 
Cold, heartless, and brutal she’ll find you to be, 
When you she'll be gettin’, 
She'll soon be regrettin’ 
She e’er changed her name from plain Kitty Magee. 


What’s that? Am I dhramin’, 
You’ve only been schamin’, 


fd 


UNCLE GABE ON CHURCH MATTERS. 45 


Just thryin’ to test the affection in me? 
Your kisses confuse me— 
Well, I'll not refuse ye, 
I know you'll be tindher an’ lovin’ wid me; 
To show my conthrition 
For doubts and suspicion, 
I'll ax for my bridesmaid swate Kitty Magee. 
Witt EMMETT. 


UNCLE GABE ON CHURCH MATTERS. 


LD SATAN lubs to come out to de meetin’s now- 

a-days, 

An’ keeps his bizness runnin’ in de slickes’ kind 0’ 
ways. — 

He structifies a feller how to sling a fancy cane 

When he’s breshin’ roun’ de yaller gals wid all his 
might and main ; 

He puts de fines’ teches on a nigger’s red cravat, 

Or shoves a pewter quarter in de circulatin’ hat. 

He hangs aroun’ de sisters, too, an’ greets ’em wid a 
smile, 

An’ shows ’em how de white folks puts on lots 0’ Sun- 

f= day-style. 

He tells de congregation, in a whisper sweet as honey, 

To hab de benches painted wid de missionary money, 

Or-to send de gospel ’way out whar de neckid Injuns 
stay, ; 

An’ meet de bill by cuttin’ down de parson’s vearly 


Pee 


am ca party, UPe rk TE Be We ok a Cement OG tie eh Bi) LIL UB dds an Pay . “a 
a at aN aa ie oy Si eh $ Aah Siti \. if ‘ ae a 3 CNTR or ae 5 ik il 
; < af SRY Sm te ‘ ex 


4G “UNCLE GABE ON CHURCH MATTERS. 


His voice is loud an’ strong enough to make de bushes 
ring, 

An’ he sets up in de choir jes’ to show ’em how to sing. 

Den he drops de chune ’way down so low—an’ totes it 
up so high, 

Dat ’twould pester all de angels what’s a-listenin’ in de 


sky ; 
An’ he makes de old-time music sound so frolicsome an’ 
gay, 
Dat ’twill hardly git beyon’ de roof—much less de — 
Milky mays ; | 


For dar’s heaps 0’ dese new fashion’ songs—jes’ sing em 
how you please— ‘q 

Dat’ll fly orf wid de Baer or lodge ermongst de — 
trees, 

Or git drownded in de thunder-cloud, or tangled in de 
lim’s ; 

For dey lack de steady wild-goose flop dat lif’s de good 
old hymns. 

De wakenin’ old camp-meeting chunes is jes’ de things 


for me, 3 

Dat starts up from a nigger’s soul like blackbirds from 
a tree, | 

Wid a flutter ’mongst his feelin’s an’ a wetness roun’ de | 
eyes, | 

Till he almost see de chimleys to de mansions in de 
skies. 

J. A. Macon. 


THE COFFEE MY MOTHER USED TO MAKE. 47 


THE COFFEE MY MOTHER USED TO MAKE 


WAS born in Indiany,” says a stranger, lank and 


slim, 


_ As us fellows in the restaurant was kind of guyin’ him, 
- And Uncle Jake was slidin’ him another punkin pie 
_ And an extra cup of coffee, with a twinkle in his eye— 


_“T was born in Indiany—more’n forty year ago— 
_ And I haint been back in twenty—and I’m workin’ 


back’ards slow. 


_ And [’ye et in every restaurant ’twixt here and Santa 


Fe, 
And I want to state this coffee tastes like gettin’ home 
to me! 


_ “Pour us out another, daddy,” says the feller, warmin’ 


up, 


_ A-speakin’ ’crost a saucerful, as uncle tuck his cup. 


“When I seed your sign out yonder,” he went on to 
Uncle Jake— 

“Come in and git some coffee like your mother used to 
make ’— 


-*“T thought of my old mother and Posey county farm; 
_And me a little kid ag’in, a-hangin’ on her arm 
_ As she set the pot a-bilin’—broke the eggs an’ poured 


em in.” 


: And the feller hind o’ halted, with a trimble in his chin. 


And Uncle Jake he fetched the feller’s coffee back and 


stood 


_ As solemn for a moment as an undertaker would ; 


a ey ee 


£8 KIT, OR FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 


Shen he sort o’ turned and tip-toed to’rds the kitchen 
door, and next— 

Here comes his old wife out with him a-rubbin’ off her 
specs— 


And she rushes for the stranger, and she hollers out, 
“Tt’s him! 

Thank God, we’ve met him comin’! Don’t you know 
your mother, Jim ?” 

And the feller, as he grabbed her, says: “ You bet I 
haint forgot—” 

But wipin’ of his eyes, says he, “ Your coffee’s mighty 
hot!” 

James WuitcomMsB RILEY. 


KIT, OR FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 


T was a gala day on the avenue. All the fast horses 
in the town were out showing their paces, and the 
merry sleigh-riders shouted with mirth and enjoyment 
as they raced neck-and-neck, five teams deep, and when 
they came to a deadlock it was still more fun. At one 
juncture, however, there were shouts that did not sound 
mirthful—a wild plunge among the thoroughbreds, and 
gome policemen ran out from the sidewalk, and talked 
in authoritative tones, but the crowd was so dense no 
one could see what was going on among the noisy drivers 


and their plunging horses. 


“ It’s only a couple of boys,” said the beautiful Felicia 
Hautton, settling back among the luxurious white robes; 
“two of those horrid newsboys. They ought not to be 
allowed on the avenue at all. They’re always getting 


KIT, OR FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 4Y 


ander foot and frightening the horses—such good time 
as we were making, too—how disagreeable.” 

is Anybody killed?” asked one fine gentleman of 
another, as they passed. 

“Naw, two boys mixed up, that’s all. One started 
to cross the street and fell, and t’other got run over 
trying to save him. Street Awabs, you know; can 
spware a few—ta-ta |” 

“Got under the feet of a highflyer, and spoiled his 
time,” said another, in a disgusted tone. 

Then the avenue was cleared and the tide of enjoy- 
ment went on, and no more Arabs were so foolish as to 
sacrifice themselves by obstructing the triumphs of the 
fashionable throng. 

At sundown of that same day two poorly dressed 
boys applied for admission at the doors of Harper’s 
Hospital, and inquired for one of their number who 
had been brought thither that same afternoon. They 
were permitted to see him for a few moments, and on 
tiptoe they entered the long, clean ward and sought out: 
the narrow bed on which he lay. When they had 
awkwardly greeted him they sat down on the edge of 
the cot, and were much embarrassed with the strange- 
ness of the scene, and painfully conscious of their own 
hands and feet : they were also rather shocked at their 
comrade’s clean face, it looked so unnaturally white, 
with a dab of red on either cheek. Their eyes rolled 
stealthily about over the sick-beds and their occupants. 

“Say, old feller,” said the biggest of the two boys, 
addressing his sick comrade, “aint you puttin’ on a 
heap of style ?” 

“ Where’s Kit ?” asked the sick boy, fretfully,. “ why 
aint he along of you?” 


50 _ KIT, OR FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 


The two visitors looked at each other, and their faces 
erew downcast and troubled; they dug the toes of thei 
boots into the clean floor at the bedside, and shuffled 
uneasily, while both coughed violently in concert, then 
the big boy blurted out: 

“Kit went on a errant, and he told me to tell you 
he would be up to-morrer, sure—he sez, sez he, ‘ Tell 
Jim it’s all rite.’ ” 

“ You aint gassin’, be you? Kit didn’t git hurt nor 
nothin’ ?” | 

“ He couldn’t go errants ef he waz hurt, could he?” 
asked the other, doggedly; “an’ here,” improNel a 
lie for the occasion, “ he sent yer this.” 

The sick and injured boy smiled as he took the big 
orange in his feverish hands and turned it over. 

“T knew Kit wasn’t the boy to forgit me—here, you 
fels, take a bite—it’s many a orange and stick of candy 
and bit of pie we’ve divided atween us afore this. 
Pore little Kit! He knowed as how I liked ’em; here, 
you take a squeeze,” as he handed it back. 

But the boys wouldn’t touch it, and: the sick patient 
put it under his pillow. Then he said, in a strange, 
quavering voice: 

“T want you fels to look after Kit, and don’t you for- 
get it; when I gets well, I'll pay back every cent; 
but it’ll be a long time, fer I’m all mashed in. He’sa 
little fel, and needs lookin’ arter. Now, boys, don’t go 
back on me, will you?” ‘ 

“You needn’t worry about Kit,” said the spokesman 
of the two, looking away, and digging violently at the 
floor, “he’s all rite.” 

“Lord, I am so tired,” said the sick bov. “If it 
wasn't fer Kit I'd as leve die as get well, but I promised 


SIT, OR FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 53 


mother as how I’d allus take care of the little chap, 
and I’ve done it; and he wasn’t cut up nor bruised nor 
nothin’ when they pulled him out’n from under the hose’ 
hoofs ?” 7 

“Wasn’t cut up nor bruised nor nothin’,” echoed the 
visitor, with his back to the bed. 

“Good! Jes’ you look arter him tillI get outer this, 
and [ll work my fingers off for ye. Lord! how dead 


tired I am.” | 


He drifted away to sleep, and the two boys left with. 


_ out waking him; but before they went out one of them 
slipped a little leather bag of marbles in his hand, and 
- the other put a few pennies wrapped in a dirty bit of 
newspaper close by, where he would see them on wak- 


. ing 


“He'll think Kit sent ’em,” said one, as they softly 


retreated ; “ they were in Kit’s pocket when the police- 
' man found him—to think he doesn’t know.” 


That night when the hospital doctor went his rounds 


i he found the new boy wide awake, but very still. To 
_ the familiar eye of the physician his symptoms were 
- clearly defined. 


a had 


ps0 Ca: A ROY Sal a oe, fb 


“Well, my boy,” he said, kindly, “ what can I do for 
you ?” 


_ The boy’s face lighted. “I want to see Kit—send 
& for Kit.” 


“Yes, yes,” answered the doctor, hastily; “but you 


_ must wait until morning.” 


“T don’t—think—I—can—sir. I guess ’m—booked 


_ —for—t’other—place. It would be all right—ef it 
- wasn’t for Kit. But I promised mother Id take care 


of him, and what’ll he do without me? I can’t leave 


ae Kit.” 


52 KIT, OR FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 


The death dew was on his forehead. “He beat his 
hands helplessly on the white spread, while his pale lips 
continued to murmur, “I can’t leave Kit.” | 

The physician sat down by him. It is against the 
rules of an hospital to hold much converse with the, 
dying, or even to notify those whe are in extremis of 
the approach of death; but this was a child—the doctor 
assumed the responsibility. 

“ My boy, if you knew you could not get well, would 
you feel very sorry ?” 

“ Not for myself; only for Kit.” 

“But if I told you that Kit was well taken care of— 
that a rich and kind father had sent for him and given 
him a beautiful home—” 

“Now you're gassin’,” said the dying boy, with his 
old fervor. “Dad aint that sort; besides, he broke 
mother’s heart, and Kit wouldn’t speak to him ef he cum 
back.” | 

“No earthly father, dear boy, but a Heavenly one— 
the priest has told you of Him, and the home He gives 
His children. He it is who has sent for Kit.” 

The sick boy made up his parched lips to whistle. | 
“ W-h-e-w,” he said, brokenly, “ Kit’s dead—killed arter 
all, when I tried so hard to save him.” 

“He was dead when they took him up,” said the 
doctor, “and‘not a bruise nor a broken limb—the shock 
killed him, and he is safe now with his Master; don’t 
you believe that ?” 7 

But the boy did not heed him ; his lips moved faintly, 
and the doctor, bending down, heard him say again, 
“ Kit’s dead.” Then there was a long silence, and ‘ore 
he left, the doctor turned the white sheet over the tran- 
auil face, and Kit and his brother were together again. 


IRISH COQUETRY. 53 


IRISH COQUETRY. 


os 


AYS Patrick to Biddy, “ Good-mornin’, me dear! 
It’s a bit av a sacret Pve got for yer ear: 
It’s yoursel’ that is lukin’ so charmin’ the day, 
That the heart in me breast is fast slippin’ away.” 
“Tis you that kin flatther,” Miss Biddy replies, 
And throws him a glance from her merry blue eyes. 


‘‘ Arrah, thin,” cries Patrick, “’tis thinkin’ av you 
Thats makin’ me heart-sick, me darlint, that’s thrue! 
Sure I’ve waited a long while to tell ye this same, 
And Biddy Maloney will be such a foine name.” 

_ Cries Biddy: “ Have done wid yer talkin’, I pray; 

_ Shure me heart’s not me own for this many a day! 


_“T gave it away to a good-lookin’ boy, 

_ Who thinks there is no one like Biddy Malloy ; 
So don’t bother me, Pat; jist be aisy,” says she. 

_ “Tndade, if ye’ll let me, I will that!” says he; 
“Tt’s a bit of a flirt that ye are, on the sly; 

Tll not trouble ye more, but I’ll bid ye good-bye.” 


“ Arrah, Patrick,” cries Biddy, “ an’ where are ye goin’? 

Sure it isn’t the best of good manners ye’re showin’ 

_ To lave me so suddint!” “Och, Biddy,” says Pat, 

“You have knocked the cock-feathers jist out av me 
hat !” | | 

“ Come back, Pat!” says she. “ What fur, thin?’ says 
he. 

“ Bekase I meant you all the time, sir!” says she. 


vs fsa yiatisl cpl shi lbe eit SUAS DST Mad NON ibaa a he lai WN ae | St ae er AM hl Oe pigs. 


54 GABE AND THE IRISH LADY. 


GABE AND THE IRISH LADY. 
A CHARACTER SKETCH. 


ERE he is, Jenny! what there is of him!” said 

the cheery Captain, thus introducing to his 

,daughter’s notice the not very prepossessing chattel per- 
sonal he had just hired and brought home. 

“Enough of him, such as it is, I should say,” re- 
sponded Miss Jenny, as her keen eye and keener per- 
ception took in the merit of the subject before her and 
rated it at just about its proper value. 

“Oh! don’t decide in advance against yourself, 
Jenny,” said the Captain. “The boy may turn out 
better than he looks. He can scour knives and run 
errands, and no doubt you'll find him useful.” Then, 
turning to the boy, he said: “See here, Snowball, if 
you know your own interest, you'll take care not to 
offend this young lady. Understand ?” 

“Oh! law, Marse Cap’n,” answered the boy, grinning — 
relievedly (he had wilted considerably under Miss 
Jenny’s searching gaze), “Gabe isn’t gwine ter fend 
nobody. Gabe gwine ter mind Missy jis’ like a dawg.” 

Words fail to express the measure of abject servility 
he contrived to throw into his enunciation of the word 
dog. The boy’s eyes sought the young lady’s. Some- — 
thing he saw in them caused him to squirm uncomfort- 
ably. Miss Jenny’s lip curled. Bs 

“You need not act like a dog,” she said. “ Behave — 
yourself as a serving-boy should, and you will fare well — 
Otherwise—” 

Miss Jenny left her sentence, with its limitless possi- — 
_ bilities. unfinished. The Captain laughed heartily. 


GABE AND THE IRISH LADY. 55 


“ Now you hear it,” he said. “Star of the Morning, 
look out for ‘ otherwises.’ ” 

“Golly, Marse Cap’n,” said the boy, “I dusn’t want 
no sich. ’Clar ter goodniss, Missy, Ise a pow’ful han’ 
fur clean knives, an’ shake kyapit, an’ tote watah, an’ 
all sich as dat. Y’alls dusn’t know what a servant ole 


_ Gahe is.” 


“No, we do not, indeed,” said Miss Jenny. “ But 


1 we shall soon find out. Come to the kitchen with me. 


Where are his things, papa ?” : 


“On him, Jenny; on him. At least, all I saw of things. 


_ Have you any clothes or other valuables, Gabe ?” 


“Laws, Marse Cap’n,” answered the boy, “dat ar 


_ white oman kep’ every stitch ob clo’es, bosom-pin an’ 


all. She aint my ole Mistis. She jis’ a white pusson 


dat hi’ed me. She spekalate on hin’ niggahs. Ole’ 
_ Mistis guv me “hole heap o’ good clo’es when I go to lib 


wid dat white’oman. Dell law! I nebber see de fus’ 
rag sense, cep’ jis wot I got on. Dat aint all ’bout dat 


_ ar white oman. She dun cheat de Cap’n pow’ful, kase 
- she don’t pay my ole Mis nuffin’ jes ’cep’ two dollahs 
de mumf; an’ clar ter de goodniss ef she didn’t chawge 


de Cap’n fo’ dollahs de mumf, jis fer ole Gabe, ’dout no 
clo’es, jis cep’ wot he got on. Dah ar’ twice too much 


fer sich a Niggah, kase ole Gabe jis onpossible ter be 


wuth dat ar’ fo’ dollahs de mumf.” 

“T should think so,” said Miss Jenny. ‘ Now you 
are talking quite sensibly.” 

Gabe, quick to take his cue, perceiving that a self- 
deprecating style was far more likely to prove accept- 
able to Miss Jenny than any attempt at self-praise, at. 
once added : 

“Kase ole Gabe jis a mizzable, no-’count Niggah, dat 


+ t 
56 GABE AND THE IRISH LADY. 


nobody keers nuffin’ ’bout, ’an nebber teched nuffin’ 
sence he’s bawn. How you specs he gwine be wuth dat 
fo’ dollahs de mumf ?” 

“No one expects it,” laughed the young lady. “ But 
since you seem to bewail your lack of teaching, know 
that from henceforth you will be taught—several things. 
And what we do expect is that you will improve your 
chances.” | 

“Laws! Miss Jinny, Ise dat bleeged,” began Gabe, 
radiant with delight at the relaxation of the young 
lady’s rigid manner. ‘“ Now you is jis mose like de 
Cap'n; an’ he de mose elegantest gemman Ise seed 
sence Ise bawn. Dat aint no make-be’leeve lie, Miss 
Jinny. Dat de sollum fac’.” 

“Well, Gabriel,” laughed the Cap’n, “I suppose I 
owe you as much as two bits and a picayune for that. 
Take this (and he tossed him a silver half-dollar) to 
begin the new place on, and see how many more like it 
you can deserve. Be a good boy and mind your orders 
and you'll get along.” : | 

The Captain returned to his office down-town, and 
Miss Jenny led Gabe to the kitchen, to present him to, 
the new cook, who only lifted her head a trifle higher 
as she acknowledged the introduction, with the remark: 
“ Whativer’s the good uv thim haythin Nagurs it passes 
Biddy O’Rafferty to find out. Though, if yez do be 
plazed wid ’im, it’s not Biddy’s place to spake the 
worrud.” 

‘‘ Find some work for him, Bridget,” said Miss Jenny. 
“T will send him to you when I have shown him to 
mamma.” 

“Faith! I wish her joy uv the soight,” responded 
Bridget. 


1 ee eel ma il he . 7 ~~ 
pea. . 
4 i 
> ‘ 
. 


% 


GABE AND THE IRISH LADY. “5? 


Mrs. Chamberlaine — mild-eyed, gentle-voiced, and 
easy-going—smiled benignly upon the lad and hoped 
he would make no trouble for the cook. 

“T ain't studdyin’ ’bout makin’ no trouble, no ways, 


_ Mistis,” said Gabe, assuringly. But he added, reflect- 


ively: “ Dem Tish ladies dat wuks in kitchins, dey all 
alike, Dey de mose onregen’ret pussons, an’ I dus 
‘spise “em.” | 
Although gifted, like many of his race, with a rare, 
sweet voice, and a quick ear, the young scamp seemed 
to take great delight in howling, in the dismalest voice, 
and to most unmusical tunes, certain basket-meeting 
hymns, as he styled them. The first time Miss Jenny 
ever undertook to inflict corporeal punishment upon the 
urchin was on account of his persistent efforts at one of 
these hymns. He was seated on a grass-plat in the 
middle of the side yard, the knife-board between his 
outstretched feet, his body swaying back and forth and 
from side to side, as he lazily rubbed at his cutlery. 
And as he sat and swayed and scoured, he also sang : 


“As I passed by de gates ob hell, 
I bid dis wor!’ a long far’ well. 
Oh! I don’ want to stay heah no longer. 
Oh! wot I want to stay heah for? 
Dis yer worl’ a hell to me, 
Kase my ole Mis:is don’t lub me, 
Bekase I won’t drink jawbone tea. 
Oh! I don’t want to stay heah no longer.” 


“Gabe,” said Miss Jenny, rapidly crossing the grass 
plat and administering a smart box on his ear, “at 
least six times to-day I have forbidden you to how! that 
outlandish farrago ! Now perhaps you will remember.” 


58 GABE AND THE IRISH LADY. 


“Conshinse sake, Miss Jinny,” exclaimed the lad 


“ Be sho I will. Wot yo’ spilin’ dem leetle, sof’ cotton © 


hans’ cuffin’ black Niggah’s jaws fo’? White ladies 
han’s aint fitten fer cuff wid. Yo’ jis orter leab all 
sich as dat ter de Cap’n.” 

“If you ring any more changes on that horrid howl, 


I will leave it to the Captain,” said Miss Jenny, signifi- 


cantly. “And I’ve half a mind: to take a switch to 
you now,’ she added, as the young monkey grinned 
provokingly into her face. “I thought you were going 
to mind so beautifully.” 

“So I is, Miss Jinny. Ise gwine ter mind. Ise jis 
studdyin’ ’bout stoppin’ off dat bahskit-meetin’ hymn, 
dat aint no outlanish verry go. Dat a ’ligious Niggah 
hymn.” 

“ Whatever it is, you'd better not practice it any 
more,” said the young lady. “I don’t object to your 
singing about your work, but you shall not howl and 
yell like an insane Dervish.” 

“Miss Jinuy, I aint no inshane Duvvish, I aint,” 


- whined the boy. “ An’ I’clar to goodniss you is dat 


hahd ter please.” 
But before the young lady had fairly passed out of 


} 


sight he threw back his head, opened his mouth, and 


sang like a lark or nightingale, in tones of ravishing 
sweetness, the stanza: 


“Oh! what was Love made for, 

If ’tis not the same, 

Through joy and through torment, 
Through grief and through shame? 

Through the furnace tere 
Thy steps Pll pursue, 

And shield thee and save thee 
Or perish there too.” 


GABE AND THE IRISH LADY. Hebe 


- 


Miss Jenny could not resist the impulse to toss a 
- picayune from the upper piazza to the silver-voiced 
archin, saying, as she did so: “ Never sing any worse 
_ than that, Gabe, and you'll get rich before long.” 

_ “T’ankee, Miss Jinny. Dat ar’ kase dat a lub song. 
_ Makes Missy tink ’bout her jularkey.” 

And then, laughing hilariously at the interpretation 
_ of the motives that actuated the young lady, he trolled 
forth: 


“<Q Miss Missy | don’t you cry ; 
Yore jularkey’!l come bym-bye. 
Dar he come, all drest in blue; 
Dat’s a sign dat he lubs you’ 


_ Ki! Isn’t white young missises dat curus ?” 

Between Gabe and the autocrat of the kitchen thers 
_ was mutual and uncompromising animosity. Bridget 
- could never bring herself to any repression of her scorn 
for the “haythun Nagurs” in general, this luckless lad 
in particular ; while Gabe, in return, enjoyed nothing 
- more than an opportunity, which he never failed to 
improve, of either vexing or scaring “dat ar’ Dish 
lady.” One of his favorite revenges was to seize the 
garden hose and dart out upon the front pavement at 
an early hour in the morning, to wash the stone flagging 
and compass her confusion. Bridget was a faithful 
attendant upon morning mass, and so punctual was the 
_ rigid maiden that Gabe could reckon, to the fraction of 
a minute, the time of her appearance at the garden 
~ corner, which he, eyes to the ground and hose-nozzle in 
full play a few inches higher, would turn at full speed 
at the precise moment when Bridget, from the side 
street, arrived at the fateful spot. Of course, her two 


60 GABE AND THE IRISH LADY. 


—— 


feet and ankles received the whole benefit of the stream 


of water, and many an involuntary Irish jig did the 
poor girl execute at this unlucky corner, in consequence 
of the “haythen Nagur’s ” well-laid scheme. 


“Whist! Arra! The howly saints protict us! Bad 


luck thin to yez for a mannerless spalpeen, and may all 
the imps uv Satan fly away wid yez!” she would wail 
as she hopped frantically up and down, while Gabe, 
with well-feigned wonderment, would stare at the girl 
in strange antics prancing; for all the while he would 
manage to keep the nozzle aimed with great precision 
at her lower extremeties, until, with a loud shriek and 
bound forward, the exasperated damsel would sieze 
' Gabe by the collar, and cuff him soundly. 

“Dell law! Sich a ’ligion as dat is you gits!” the 
boy would comment, eosin alae “ Why in de good- 
niss gurracious couldn’t yo’ tole ole Gabe de wattah 
a-squhtin’ on ye? Good golly! Gwine ter de chu’ch 
fer git ’ligion fus ting in de mawin’, fo’ breakfus, an’ 
den comin’ home a-rippin’ an’ a-tarrin’ sich a way as 


dat is! Smackin’ a po’ Niggah’s jaws off, jis on ’count_ 


ob her own orkidniss a-runnin’ inter dat wattah-squht. 
Sho! ’Clar ter de goodniss, I donno wot sort o’ stuff 
dey has ter dat ar’ chu’ch. ’Tain’t ’ligion, no ways.” 
Another sweet revenge of Gabe’s he compassed with 
“ pop-cracks,’ by which expressive term he designated 
all manner of Chinese fire-crackers, torpedoes, grass- 


hoppers, and the like, that came into his possession - 


through the Captain’s rather injudicious liberality. It 
was his delight to place under the cellar door a quantity 
of fire-crackers, discriminatingly fused, so as to ex- 
plode, with startling reverberations, just as Biddy, a 
pan of potatoes in one hand, some other commodity in 


ray aN 
: 
eS ce 
Ay 
i! 
: ; 


GABE AND THE IRISH LADY. 61 


the other, reached the topmost step. At every sucr 

zelebration the frightened girl, with a wild shriek, 

would bound forward, sending her commodities all 

aver the paved walk, and protesting in loud voice 
against the “Sorra luck that iver sint the haythen 
. Nagur, wid no more sinse nor an ijit, intil the fambly, 

tc break ivery bone in the two ligs uv poor Biddy, wid 
his murtherin’ devishes.” 

“Good conshinse! Tish ladies is dat skeery!” the 
boy would comment, as he hastened from some conve- 

-niently out-of-the-way spot to the “scene of confusion 
_ and creature complaints,’ and proceeded to propitiate 
_ the irate damsel by picking up her scattered stores. 

- “Put dem yer pop-cracks cl’ar under de sullar-do 
_ jis a-puppus, so dey wouldn’t huht ye no ways. ’Pears 

like it jis onpossible for Ole Gabe ter suit ye bout dem 

_ pop-cracks de Cap’n fotch.” 

_ Sure, an it’s ivery outlandish place ye do pick out 

_to pit the murtherin’ things. That a sinsible man like 

the Captin should indulge ye to thim same! Didn’: 
_yestoof a pint uv thim intil the coal-hod the mornin’ 
an’ cum near blowing the brikfas’ oop the chimbly wid 

_ yer foolery ?” returned Bridget on one such occasion. 

* You dun do dat ar’ yo’ ownse’f. Gabe jis chuck a 

_ few pop-eracks inter de coal-hod, kase he pockets bustin’ 
_abig hole. Dat de time yo’s too suddin’ ’bout chunkin’ 

up de fiah.” 

And Gabe, unmindful of discretion, burst into a fit 
of laughter at the droll memory called up by Bridget’s 
allusion. 

“Sure, it’s Biddy that do wish she had the ordering 

_ uv yez for a month,” said the disgusted damsel. “ Not 
wan day shud go over yer haythin hid, wid wool on it 


62 “ INASMUCH.” 


like a shape’s back, but yez shud be packed intil a toob 
under the hydrint, wid the fool foorce of the shtrame 
turned ontil yer bare back. Mebby thin some uv the 
dirthy thricks uv ye’d be washed oot by the toime 
Biddy ud turn that sthrame off.” 

“Dell law!” ejaculated Gabe, rolling his eyes wildly. 
And when he repeated Bridget’s good wishes to his 
next friend, Captain Tucker’s Ike, he added conclu- 
sively : “‘ Dat wot make me ’spise dem [ish ladies.” 

Mary E. C. WYETH. 


“«TNASMUCH.” 


A CHRISTMAS STORY. 


OU say that you want a meetin’-house for the boys 

in the gulch up there, 

And a Sunday-school with pictur “books! Well, put 
me down for a share. 

I believe in little children; it’s as nice to hear ’em read 

As to wander round the ranch at noon and see the cattle 
feed. 

And I believe in preachin’ too—by men for pxeachin’ — 
born, 

Who let aione the husks of creed, and measure out the 
corn. : 

The pulpit’s but a manger where the pews are gospel- 
fed ; 

And they say ’twas to a manger that the star of glory 
led. : 

¥o I'll subscribe a dollar toward the manger and the 
stalls ; : 


“ INASMUCH.” | 63 


[always give the best I’ve got whenever my partner 


calls. 

And, stranger, let me tell you: I’m beginning to sus- 
pect 

That all the world are partners, whatever their creed or 
sect ; 

That life is a kind of pilgrimage, a sort of Jericho 

: road, 

And kindness to one’s fellows the sweetest law in the 

~ code. | 

No matter about the ’nitials; froma farmer, you under- 

stand, 


Who's poncrally had to play it alone from rather an 

| or’nary hand. 

I’ve never struck it rich; for farming, you see, is slow, 

And whenever the crops are fairly good, the prices are 
: always low. 

A dollar isn’t very much, but it helps to count the same, 

The lowest trump supports the ace, and sometimes wins 


the game. 
It assists a fellow’s praying when ie down upon his 
~ knees— 
2 Inasmuch as you have done it to one of the least of 
3 these.” 
au know the verses, stranger, so you needn’t stop to 
FE quote, 
TW t’s a different thing to know them or to say them off 
( by rote. 
‘Til tell you where I learned them, if you’ll step in from 
; the rain : 
*Twas down in Frisco years ago; had been oe haul 
: ing grain. 


ac was just across the ferry on the Sacramento pike, 


iy 
at: 

i 

Y, 


4 
Be 


Be 


64 “INASMUCH.” 


Where stores and sheds are rather mixed, and shanties 
scatterin’ like. 

Not the likeliest place to be in, I remember, the saloon, 

Witk grocery, market, baker-shop, and bar-room all in 
one. . | 

And this made up the picture—my hair was not then 
gray, 

But everything still seems as real as if ’twere yesterday. 

A little girl with haggard face stood at the counter 
there, 

Not more than ten or twelve at most, but worn with 
grief and care ; 

And her voice was kind of raspy, like a sort of chronic 
cold— 

Just the tone you find in children who are prematurely 
old. . 

She said: “Two bits for bread and tea. Ma hasn’t 
much to eat ; es 

She hopes next week to work again, and buy us al} 
some meat. 

We've been half starved all winter, but spring will soon 
be here, 

And she tells us, keep up courage, for God is always 
near.” 

Just then a dozen men came in; the boy was called 
away | 

To shake the spotted cubes for drinks, as Forty-niners 

gay. 

[never heard from human lips such oaths and curses loud 

As rose above the glasses of that crazed and reckless 
crowd. 

But the poor, tired girl sat waiting, lost at lest to revels 
deep, 


“INASMUCH.” 65 


On a keg beside a barrel in the corner, fast asleep. 
Well, I stood there, sort of waiting, until some one at 
the bar 
Said, “Hello! I say, stranger, what have you over 
thar ?” 
The boy then told her story, and that crew, so fierce 
and wild, 
Grew intent, and seemed to listen to the breathing of 
_ the child. 
The glasses all were lowered; said the leader: “ Boys, 
see here; 
All day we’ve been pouring whisky, drinking deep our 
Christmas cheer. 
Here’s two dollars—I’ve got feelings which are not 
entirely dead— 
For this little girl and mother suffering for the want of 
bread.” 
*‘Here’s a dollar.” “ Here’s another.” And they all 
chipped in their share, 
And they planked the ringing metal down upon the 
counter there. 
Then the spokesman took a golden double-eagle from 
his belt, 
Softly stepped from bar to counter, and beside the 
| sleeper knelt ; 
Took the “two bits” from her fingers; changed her 
silver piece for gold. 
“See there, boys; the girl is dreaming.” Down her 
cheeks the tear-drops rolled. 
One by one the swarthy miners ree in silence to the 
street. 
Gently we awoke the sleeper, but ake started to her 
i feet 
5 


pete ee Ls Rote £4 EN ee : ff ~ 7 Sere a 


66 THE ENGINEER’S STORY. 


With & dazed and strange expression, saying: “Oh!} 
thought ’twas true! 

Ma was well, and we were happy ; round our door-stone 
roses grew: 

We had everything we wanted, food enough, and clothes 
to wear; 

And my hand burns where an oe touched it soft with 
fingers fair.” 

As she looked, and saw the money, in her fingers glisten- 
ing bright, 

Well, now, ma has long been praying, but she won’t 
believe me quite, 

How you’ve sent way up to heaven, where the golden 
treasures are, 

And have also got an angel clerking at your grocery 
bar.’’ 

That’s a Christmas story, stranger, which I thovght 
you'd like to hear ; 

True to fact and human nature, pointing out ene’s 

duty clear. 

Hence to matters of subscriptions you will see that I’m 
alive : | : 

Just mark off that dollar, stranger; I think I'll make 


it five. 
WALLACE BRUCE 


ee 


THE ENGINEER’S STORY. 


AN’SOM, stranger? Yes, hee purty an’ ez peart 
ez she kin be. 
Clever? Wy! she aint no chicken, but she’s good 
enough for me. 


THE ENGINEER’S STORY. 67 


_ What’s her name? ’Tis kind o’ common, yit I aint 
; ashamed to tell, 

_ Bhe’ s ole “ Fiddler” Filkin’s daughter, an’ her dad he 
| calls her “ Nell.” 


I wuz drivin’ on the “ Central” jist about a year ago 
On the run from Winnemucca up to Reno in Washoe. 
_ There’s no end o’ skeery places. *Taint a road fur one 
4 - who dreams, 

With its curves an’ awful tres’les over rocks an’ moun- 
tain streams. 


_ *Twuz an afternoon in August, we hed got behind an 
‘ hour, 

: An’ wus tearin’ up the mountain like a summer thunder- 
, shower, 

- Round the bends an’ by the ledges, ’bout ez fast ez we 
: ) could go, 

: With the mountain peaks above us an’ the river down 
4 below. 


\ Ez we come nigh to a tres’le ’crost a holler, deep an’ 


; wild, 
Suddenly I saw a baby, twuz the station-keeper’s 
child, 

_ Toddlin’ right along the timbers with a bold an’ fear- 
: less tread, 


“Right afore the locomotive, not a hundred rods ahead. 


iI jist jumped an’ grabbed the throttle: an’ I fa’ Hy held 
: my breath, 
Fur I felt I couldn’t stop her till the child wuz crushed 
o to death, 


68 THE ENGINEER’S STORY. 


When a woman sprang afore me, like a sudden streak 
o’ light, 

Caught the boy, an’ ’twixt the timbers in a second sank 
from sight. : 


I jist whis’l’d all the brakes on. An’ we worked with 
might an’ main, ) 

Till the fire flew from the drivers, but we couldn’t stop 
the train, 

An’ it rumbled on above her. How she screamed ez 
we rolled by, 

An’ the river roared below us—lI shall hear her till I 
die | 


Then we stop’t; the sun wuz shinin’; I ran back along 
the Hae 

An’ I found her—dead? No! livin’! She wuz hangin’ 
to the bridge 

Where she drop’t down thro’ the cross-ties, with one arm 
about a sill, 

An’ the other round the baby, who wuz yellin’ fur to 
kill } 


So we saved em. She wuz gritty. She’s ez peart ez 
she kin be— 

Now we’re marrid—she’s no chicken, but she’s ask 
enough for me. 

An’ ef eny ask who owns her, wy, I aint ashamed es 


tell— 
GLv’s my wife. Ther’ aint none better than ole Filkin’s 
daughter “ Nell.” 


EvUGENE J. HALL. 


DE YALLER CHINEE. 69 


DE YALLER CHINEE. 


(AS DISCUSSED IN THE CABIN.) 
E kin pick up a libbin’ wharebber he goes 
By wukin de railroad an’ washin’ ole clo’es3 
He kin lib’ ’bout as cheap as a leather wing bat. 
For he watches de rat market keen as a cat; 
Aw’ his boa’d an’ his rations is pretty nigh free, 
For a mighty smart cuss is de yaller Chinee. 


_ Den, he’s not gwine to keer whar’ you put him to stay, 
_ An’ his eatin’ don’t cost but a nickel a day, ; 

_ An’ he won’t gib a straw for de finest hotel, 

~ When a slab-sided shanty will suit him as well; 

_ An’ a empty old box, or a holler gum-tree, 

Is a big boa’din’-house for de yaller Chinee. 


An’ he eats little mice, when de blackberries fail, 
_ Till de ha’r on his head gits de shape ob a tail ; 
Aw’ I know by his clo’es an’ his snuff-cullud face 
Dat he comes from a scrubby an’ one-gallus race ; 
- An’ Is trabbled a heap, but I nebber did see 

_ Sich a curisome chap as de yaller Chinee. 


_ Dis country was made for de whites an’ de blacks, 

For dey hoes all de corn an’ dey pays all de tax ; 

You may think what you choose, but de ’sertion is true 
Dat de orf-cullud furriner nebber will do ; 

For dar’s heap o’ tough people from ober de sea, 

_ But de cussedest sort is de yaller Chinee! 


70 BIDDY’S TRIALS AMONG THE YANKEES. 


When de bumble-bee crawls in de dirt-dobber’s hole 
To warm up his fingers an’ git out de cole, 

Dar’s gwine to be fuss in de family sho’! 

An’ one ob de critters mus’ pack up and go; 

An’ de Chinerman’s gwine to diskiver right soon. 
Dat de rabbit can’t lib’ in a stump wid de ’coon! 


When de woodpecker camps on de morkin’-bird’s nes’, 
You kin tell pretty quick which kin tussle de bes’; _ 
Dar’s a mighty good chance ob a skirmish ahead 
When de speckled dog loafs ’round de tommy-cat’s bed; 
An’ dar’s gwine to be a racket wuf waitin’ to see 
When de wukin’-man butts ’gin de yaller Chinee. 


BIDDY’S TRIALS AMONG THE YANKEES. 


AITH! Ann Hooligan, an’ I don’t deny that these 
Amerykans has plinty o’ beautiful convanyences 
to work wid in their kitchens, more’n iver the likes cud 
be found in the whole of ould Ireland, where we was 
usen to bake the brid an cook the petaties all in the 
same iron poet; an’ shure, along wid so many bewilderin’ 
things, it wad be ixpicted that a girl wud make a mish- 
take sometimes. An’ is it the Aistern paple ye’d be 
afther praisin’? May the saints defind us! an’ it’s” 
mesilf that’s lived among thim Yankees-till I was that 
sick of their haythenish way of shpakin’ that I had to 
lave. What wud ye think, Ann Hooligan, of bein’ 
axed the firsht day as ye lived at a place if ye cud pail” 
(provincialism for milk) the k-e-o-w! fur that’s the out- 
landish way thim paple has 0’ sayin’ cow. Of coorse, 


BIDDY’S TRIALS AMONG THE YANKEES. Tt 


it’s not fur the likes o’ me to be braggin’, but I can pale 
_ petaties an’ apples wid the bisht o’ thim. But to take 
the palin’ off of a cow! Howly St. Patrick! did they 
take me for a bootcher? Yersilf knows the wake 
shtomach of me, an’ how it goes aginst me to shkin 
aiven a bird or a toorkey; an’, begorra! cud it be ix- 
picted that I cud tackle a big anymal like a cow? All 
_ the flish an’ blood in me rose up forninst such a prosay- 
din’. But I cud shtand the chewin’ and twishtin’ up 0’ 
their words if they wudn’t be after mixin’ up the names 
o things. An’ thin they’re always radin’ books, and 
gittin’ that litherary they don’t know annything. Wud ~ 
ye belave it, Ann Hooligan, some o’ thim missuses I 
_ lived along wid was that fond of radin’ that they aiven 
cooked out of a book. 

His riv’rence, Father Ryan, taught me to rade before 
I lift the ould country, an’ I wud have just suited thim — 
_ Yankey ladies if it hadn’t been fur thim awful words I 
was tellin’ ye of. Ye see, one day the missis I was livin’ 
_ wid ixprished a wish to have a chicken-pie fur dinner, 
an’ sez she, “ Biddy, ye’ll find the rissypee in my cookin’ | 
book. Ye can follow thim direcshuns, an’ not come 
to bother me wid questions; for I’m goin’ to paint this 
mornin’, an’ I don’t want to be dishturbed,” sez she, an’ 
wid that she gits up an’ goes upshtairs. Of coorse, I 
was a little sheared, but I wint to work, and began 
-a-shealdin’ and a-shkinnin’ the chicken; but when I 
came to look at the rissypee, millia murthur! if it 
didn’t say it was to be butthered an’ saysoned an put 
ina spider! I thought there was some mishtake, an’ I 
shpelled the radin’ all over ag’in, but there it was right 
in print before the two eyes o’ me; so I shlips upshtairs 
to the missus’s door to ax if the book was corrict, az’ 


72 BIDDY’S TRIALS AMONG THE YANKEES. 


she was busy paintin’ on a chiny plate the beautifulest 
boonch o’ roses an’ pinks an’ heart’s-disease ye iver saw. 
But she heerd me, an’, widout turnin’ her head, sez 
she, “ Plaze don’t annoy me now, Bridget. I want to 
finish this paintin’ before dinner, an’ I don’t want to be 
throubled wid annything.” “ Faix, mem,” sez I, “ but 
I musht shpake till ye about the chicken-pie. The 
rissypee sez to put it in a spider, an’—” “ Of coorse,” 
sez she, interruptin’ me; “jist follow the rissypee; it’s 
an ixcellent one, an’ ye naden’t fear but your pot-pie 
will be all right.” 

Well, I was in dishpair, but I knew there was plinty 
o’ cobwebs in the cellar, and mabby I cud find a spider's 
- nest, an’ pick out a good-sized one that wud be big 
enoof; but, faith! I didn’t like to be afther touching 
wan wid me bare hand, for I’ve always been afeard o’ 
the craythurs; but I tuk a broom, an’ I shwept the 
bames an’ the walls o’ that cellar claner than they’d 


end o’ my finger. Jist wid that the missus called me to 


been for tin years, an’ I cudn’t find one bigger nor the — 


bring her a crickit to put her feet on. “ A crickit,” — 
sez I, wringin’ me hands. “Howly Virgin! what — 
shtrange notions these Yankeys has! Two varmints — 


wanted, an’ I don’t know where to find aither o’ thim!” | 


I'd heer’d 0’ thim haythen Chinessers, who supped on 
rats and birds’ nists, but, bedad! for an Amerykan 
family that purtinded to be respictable to be afther 


wantin’ thim dirthy insex, faith! I didn’t consider it 


nayther Christian nor daycent. But the missus was 
callin’, an’ thinkin’ the wood-house wud be the likeliest 


place to get the baste she was inquirin’ for, I wint in 
there; an’ though I got a big shplinter under me nail, — 


an’ toor me driss, an’ nearly broke me leg fallin’ over 


BIDDY’S TRIALS AMONG THE YANKEES. 73 


the wood, niver a crickit did I find. The missus was 
gittin’ impayshunt, an’ was schramin’ to me to hurry 
an’ bring it. “I can’t find one,” sezI. “ Won’t anny 
other kind of a boog do as well? I cud aisy git yea 
grasshopper or a muskeety,” sez I. “ Don’t be impi- 
dent,” sez she, scowlin’, “ T’ll wait on meself, so go back 
to your work !”’ an’ she shut the door. 

By me sowl, Ann Hooligan, I was nearly druv wild 
intirely betwixt the crickit an’ thinkin’ how I was to git 
the pizen creepin’ thing the rissypee called for, an’ so I 
sarched ag’in all over the dark corners of the closets an’ 
in the shtable; but all that I found was too shmall, for 
by the time ye wud take the ligs off thim there wudn’t 
be much left. At lasht afther awhile, all at onst the 
missus kem into the kitchen, an’ whin she saw there was 
no dinner cookin’ she flared up, an’ give me sich a look 
as if a clap o’ thunder was goin’ to bursht an’ kill me 
flat, an’ sez she, “Is it possible that ye hasn’t got the 
chicken-pie ready to bake yit? Really, I can’t put up 
wid such slowness.” ‘“ Begorra! mem,” sez I, for I 
was gittin’ mad too, “I hunted ivery place on the 
premises for a spider big enoof to cook it in, an’ anny- 
how I aint accushtomed to live wid paple who has sich 
a relish for venymous insex as ye has here. I’ve 
waishted me whole mornin’ tryin’ to fulfill the demands 
o’ yersilf and that haythenish cookin’ book, not to min- 
tion the crickit ye wanted to crush under the two feet 
of ye. But ye may as well know crickits is shcarce 
around here, as ye can see fur yerself, bedad! how I 
toor me driss, an’ skinned the leg 0’ me on the wood-pile 
whin I was a-huntin’ one.” ‘“ Ye musht be crazy,” sez 
she, “I don’t kape me crickits {in the wood-house. Come 
into the parloor, an’ I’ll show ye wan,” sez she. “That’s 


74 LIFE'S GAME OF BALL. 


what I call a crickit,”’ sez she, wid a scornful shniff 0 
her nose, p’inting wid her finger; an’ wud ye belave it, 
Ann Hooligan, it was only a little wee shmall shtool to 
rest yer fut on whin ye be tired! “ Begorra! that’s a 
fearful on-Christain name to give to yer furnytoor,” says 
I, shtickin’ up me nose as high as hers. “ An’ the 
spider, mem,” sez I, “belike it’s some haythenish title 
yez bin devisin’ to toormint paple wid, too.” She tossed 
her head an’ lid the way to the pantry. ‘ There, Brid- 
get, ye musht be blind in both eyes if ye don’t know 
what this thing is,’sez she. “It’s a skillit,” sez I, 
shakin’ me fist at her, “and it’s a mean trick to be 
_christenin’ it afther anny kind of a riptile that iver 
crawled. I'll shack the dust o’ ye Yankeys off me fate — 
foriver,” sez I. “I'll not deny that in some ways yer 
shmart enoof, but as long as ye mixes up skillits and 
spiders, an’ crickits an’ shtools, an’ porches an’ shtoops, 
bedad! ye’re not fit fur the society of anny intelligent — 
person.” . 
HARPER'S BAZar. 


LIFE’S GAME OF BALL. | 


and all, : 
Goin’ out on the fields of the future to play at Life’s 
game of ball ; 
They tell me you’re one and twenty—you don’t look as 
old as that ; 
Seems like you’re young’and slender to handle eet 8 
ball and bat. 


a tell me you’re goin’, Robbie, away from home | 
; 
: 


LIFES GAME OF BALL. 73 


I reckon I’m kinder fogyish ; don’t matter much what I 
say ; 

But I’d like to advise a little bout the game you're 
goin’ to play. 


_ My score is made, I’ve had my strikes; all past is my 


fears and doubts. 


_ I’m waiting now till the Great Umpire calls me to take 


my outs, 


In the deepening shadows of years, the years of my 


young day’s time, 


: Tl set and watch you make your base—and, boy, you’ve 


got to climb! 


'You’ve got to do your level best if you hope for a 


chance to win, 


~The “ Trials of Life” is a difficult nine and they’re run 


by a chap named Sin.- 


The World will be the Umpire, boy, and you won’t get 


favored there ; 


_ In fact, when you first begin the game, you'll hardly get 


what’s fair. 
Pick out a good sound bat, look well to what you 
take— 


Some use the basswood bat of Luck, but it’s mighty apt 


to break ; 


Don’t use the Ash of Rashness, nor i heavy Oak of 


_ Doubt, 


They’re either light or heavy, and ye most dead sure 


strike out. 


Don’t use the Elm of Dishonor, or bie Ironwood of 


Crime, 


76 LIFE’S GAME OF BALu. 


For, though they sometimes do the work, they fail most 
every time. 

So don’t choose one too heave at nor neither one too light, 

But there’s a bat that never fails, and that is the Willow 


of Right. 

Old Time is a swift curve pitcher, and a tricky one 
beside, 

But never mind how fair they look, don’t go to strikin 
wides ; 

But when the chance is right, and you get a ball that’s 
fair, 

Don’t wait for a ae snap, my boy, let go at it solid 
and square. 

Don’t count too much on your strength and knock 
Hope’s balls too high, 

The fielder Disappointment’s apt to take such balls on 
the fly. | 

Don’t muff golden opportunities, guard well against a 
pass, 


Don’t knock the ball of Resentment through any one’s , 
window glass. | 

It aint always best to try too hard to tally a clean 
home run, 

For often the surest way is to make your bases one by — 
one. 


Remember that every foul you make will be took by — 
the Catcher Slur, : 

Temptation holds the first base well, Despair is the — 
short fielder. ! 

One of the hardest points to make is the first base in 
the run, 


AUNT SOPHRONIA TABOR AT THE OPERA. 77 


lsav ff you do the thing you ought, it can, and ought 
to be done. 

After you’ve made your first, watch out for swift defeat, 

The very worst man in the nine, my boy, is the second 
base, Self-Conceit. 

There'll be the third base, too, and fielders a couple 
more, | 

Who'll be on the watch to put you out and blacken 
your final score ; 

But then you'll have a team that’s strong, who work to 
put you through, 

Your backers are Conscience and Honor and Pluck, 
and they are strong players, too, 

So brace to the work before you, dismiss all doubts and 
fears, ma 

And I will watch the game as I wait in the shade of 
the by-gone years. 


AUNT SOPHRONIA TABOR AT THE OPERA. 


“ C1O this is the uproar? Well, isn’t this a monster 

big building? And that chanticleer! It’s gota 
thousand candles if it has one. It must have taken a 
sight of tallow to have run them all!” “They are 
make-believe candles, aunt, with little jets of gas inside 
to give the effect of real ones.” “I want to know! 
Well, I only wish that your Uncle Peleg was here. 
You’re sure, Louisa, that this is a perfectly proper 
place?” “Why, aunt, you don’t suppose that papa 
would consent to our attending the opera if it were 
other than a perfectly proper place,do you?’ “No, no, 
dear; I suppose not. But somehow you city folks look 


Sore Tee RT ee, de Ta ee Wiese 4} may dey Bis wy aah ty aoa 
j zr a aN 
f % eh ; . “a 


rd 


78 AUNT SOPHRONIA TABOR AT THE OPERA. 


upon such things differently from what we do who live 
in the country. Dear suz! Louisa, do look way up 
there in the tiptop of the house! Did you ever see 
such a sight of people? Why, excursion-trains must 
have run from all over the State. Massy, child! There’s 
a woman forgot her bonnet! Do just nudge her, 
Louisa, and tell her of it. My Eliza Ann cut just such 
a caper as that one Sunday last summer—got clean into 
the meeting-house, and half-way down the middle aisle, 
before she discovered it, and the whole congregation 
a-giggling and a-tittering. Your cousin, Woodman 
Harrison, shook the whole pew; and I don’t know but 
what he’d a-hawhawed right out in meeting if his father 
hadn’t a-given him one of his looks. As ’twas, I was 
afeard he’d bust a blood-vessel. Just speak to that poor 
. ¢ereature, Louisa. She'll feel itiille: cut up when abe) 
' finds it out, and ’tis a Christian duty. to tell her.” 
“ Why, aunt, don’t you know that she is in full dead 
and left her bonnet at home intentionally? See how 
beautifully her hair is arranged. You don’t suppose 
she wanted to cover up all that elegance, do you?” q 
“Come bareheaded a-purpose! Well, I do declare! 
But, Louisa, where’s the horse-chestnut?” “The horse- 
chestnut, aunt?’ “Yes, child; you said something or 
other about a horse-chestnut playing a voluntary or 
something of that sort.” “Oh! the orchestra! Yes, 
IT remember. Don’t you see those gentlemen in front 
' of the stage?” “Them men with the fiddles and the 
bass-viols?” “Yes. Well, they compose the orchestra, 
and the orchestral part of this opera is particularly 
fine.’ “TI want to know! Belong to the first families, 
I suppose. They are an uncommon good- -looking set of 
men. Is Mrs. Patte a furrener?” “Yes; she’s a mix 


“AUNT SOPHRONIA TABOR AT THE OPERA. 9 


ture of Spanish and Italian. She was born in Madrid, 
but came to the United States when only five years of 
age, and remained here until she was nearly seventeen. 
There, aunt; there’s the bell, and the curtain will rise 
in a minute. Yes; see, there it goes.” ‘ Louisa!” 
* Sh—! listen. I want you to hearSignor Monti. He is 
considered a very fine bass.” “ But, Louisa, oughtn’t we 
to stand up during prayer-time ?” “You forget, aunt, that 
‘thisis only a play, and not atemple.” “Dear suz! I 
only wish your Uncle Peleg was here. Somehow it 
seems kinder unchristian to be play-acting worship.” 
“ Why, aunt, there’s no need of your feeling so con- 
‘science-stricken. Lots of church-people come to the 
opera. It isn’t like the theatre, you know. It’s more 
-—more—er—well, I can’t just express. it, aunt. But, 
anyway, people who discountenance the theatre, espe- 
cially during Lent, approve of the opera.” ‘‘ But, Louisa, 
what is the matter? La sakes, child! let's get out as 
: spry as ever we can! The theatre is all on fire. Hurry, 
; Louisa! Wish that your Uncle Pelege—”’ “Sh—, aunt; 
‘do sit down. It isn’t a fire. It’s only the people ap- 
plauding because Patti is on the stage. Don’t you see 
her.” “Sakes alive! Is that it? I thought we was 
all afire, or Wiggin’s flood had come. So that is Mrs. 
Patte. Well, I declare for it! she’s as spry as a cricket, 
and no mistake. Why, Louisa, how old is she? She 
looks scarcely out of her teens.” ‘O aunt! you must 
“not be so practical, and ask such personal questions. 
“Ladies don’t always want their ages known; but, be- 
‘tween ourselves, she’s over forty.” “Is it possible? 
There, they’re at it again. What is the matter now?” 
Why, Scalchi has appeared. Don’t you see?” “ What, 
‘that dapper little fellow a-bowing and a-scraping and 


ri, 


‘hy 

i 
7 Me “ 
ee. 


80 AUNT SOPHRONIA TABOR AT THE OPERA. 


a-smirking? Is that Mr. Scalchi?” “ That’s Madame 
Sealchi, aunt; and she’s taking the part of Arsaces, 
the commander of the Assyrian Army, you know.” 
“ Louisa, are you sure that this is a perfectly proper 
place? I only wish Peleg was here, for then I shouldn’t 
feel so sort a-skeery like and guilty.” ‘ Now, aunt, we 
mustn’t speak another word till the opera is through, 
because we disturb the people.” “I suppose we do; but, 
whenever anything happens, you nudge me, and I'll 
nudge you; or we can squeeze hands—that’s the way 
Peleg and I do when we go to the lyceum. It’s sorter 
social, and everybody can hear just as well.” Soon 
outrang the glorious voice. “ Bravo! bravo! bravo!” 
echoed from all parts of the house. “ Hooray!” “ Why, 
Aunt Tabor! sit down.” “If Peleg were only here! 
Hip! hip!” “ Aunt, in pity’s name, keep still! Don’t: 
get so excited.” ‘“ Well, I never! The sweat’s just 
a-rolling off me, and I am as weak as a rag-baby. 
I wish I had my turkey-tail. This mite of a fan of 
yours don’t give wind enough to cool a mouse.” “Now, 
aunt, do keep quiet. You'll hear better, and won’t get 
so warm.” “ Well, dear, I suppose you are right. But 
didn’t that sound like an angel-choir?’ “’Twas cer- 
tainly very fine. One thing is sure; you’ve heard Patti’ 
at her best.” “I’m so glad I came; and if Peleg was 

only along! But, there, I haint going to speak again 
~ till the uproar is over.” And so the opera went on, 
when, suddenly: “Louisa Allen, what are them half 
nude statutes a-standing up in the back there? Don’t 
they realize that the whole congregation can see them, 
and haven’t they any modesty?’ “ Why, aunt, that’s 
the ballet.” “The what?” “The ballet, aunt. Look, 
took! there they come. | Isn’t that the very poetry 


HE GUESSED HE’D FIGHT. 8} 


of—” “Louisa Sophronia Tabor Allen, just you pick 
up your regimentals, and follow me; and that quick, 
too.” “ But, auntie—” “ You needn’t auntie me. Just 


_get your duds together and we'll travel. Thank good- 


ness your Uncle Peleg Josiah Tabor is not here} Don’t 
let me see you give as much as a glance to where thase 
graceless nudities are, or, big as you are, Ill box your 
ears.” “Why, aunt—”’ “Louisa, I only wish I had 
my thickest veil, for I am positively ashamed to be 
caught in this unchristian scrape. Come, and don’t 
raise your eyes. There, thank goodness, we’re in pure 
air at last!” “Why, aunt, I thought you were enjoy- 
ing the opera?” “The uproar, Louisa? I have noth- 
ing to say agin the uproar. Them voices would grace 
a celestial choir. This I say with all reverence. But 
that side-show! I wouldn’t have had my Eliza Ann 
nor my Woodman Harrison, a-witnessed what we’ve 
come near a-witnessing for a thousand-dollar bill. No, 
not for a ten-thousand bill. And I amso thankful that 


q your Uncle Peleg was not here! Somehow, Louisa, I feel 
_ as if Pd fallen like the blessed Lucifer out of the moon.” 


@ 


eae 


HE GUESSED HE’D FIGHT. 


OLITENESS was born in him, and he couldn’t help 
- it. He drifted into a prominent town in the South 
soon after Johnston’s surrender, and before anybody’s 


temper had cooled down. He was after cotton, and he 
- let the fact be known. He was from Connecticut, and 


he did not try to conceal it. He hadn’t been in the 


town two hours before an “unregenerated ” pulled hie 


nose. 


82 . HE GUESSED HE*D FIGHT. 


“ Ah—yes !” said the man from Connecticut. “ Waa 
that accidental ?” 

“ No, sir! No, sir!” was the fierce rejoinder. 

“‘ Did it a purpose, eh ?” 

“Of course I did!” 

“Well, I shouldn’t a-thought it of you! Ill pass it 
over as a case of temporary insanity.” 

An hour later, as he sat in the hotel, a fire-eater 
approached him and spit on his boots and stood and 
glared at him. 

“You must have a wobble to your tongue if you 
can’t spit straighter than that,” said the man from Con- 
necticut. 

“T meant it so, sir—I meant it so 

“‘ Wanted to get me mad, eh ?” 

“Yes, sir! Yes, sir!’ 

“ You shouldn’t do so. When I’m roused I’m a hard 
man to handle. Tl excuse this on the grounds that 
you don’t know me.” 

In the afternoon he was given a hint that he had 
better leave town at once, and when he demurred, a | 
lawyer sent him a challenge. 

“ What’s it fur?” asked the Yankee, as he read the 
mksive. 

“You insulted him, and he demands satisfaction,” 
exclaimed the messenger. 

“Can’t I argy the case with him ?” 

“No, sir!” 

“S’posen I give him five dollars to settle ?” 

“ He wants to fight you, sir. And you must either 
fight or he will horsewhip you!” 

“Warm me up with a rawhide, eh ?” 

“ He will!” 


,»? 


_ HE GUESSED HE’D FIGHT. 83 


“Shoo! but who’d a thought it! Say, I’ll gin him 
ten dollars.” 

“Sir! You likewise insult me!” 

“Do, eh? Iswan I didn’t mean to. Then I’ve got 
te fight ?” 

“You have.” 

“ May get killed, or kill the other feller ?” 

“« Exactly.” 

“Well, ’'m kinder sorry. I never had but one fight 
in my life, and then I got licked. I don’t want to be 
burt,and I don’t want to injure anybody else, and—” 

“ You'll wait to be horsewhipped ?” 

“T rayther guess not. I guess [ll fight. Tl choose 
rifles at twenty paces, and you kin pick out your own 
ground. Just let me know when it’s to come off, and 
Pll try and be thar’.” 

It came off next morning. He was thar’. They 
offered him an opportunity to apologize, but he wouldn’t 
touch it. He stood up,as stiff as a new barn door, and 
bored a bullet through his man’s shoulder, and came off 


-. without a scratch himself. 


“ Bein’ as I’m out here now, and bein’ as somebody 
else may want to horsewhip me to-morrow, wouldn’t 
this be a good time for him to show up and save time?” 
he asked, as he lnaned on his rifle, and looked around 
him. 

No one showed up. The Yankee liked the town, and 
sent for his family. The people liked the Yankee, and 
made him postmaster, and he stuck there until five 


years ago. 


PEAS bbc ay eae hr a Mh he DEORE ENTER T) Va Ms She POE LOVE ER ae pws Ne ls OSTA. ae i i So cr sal 
LSA ay Hee Pe ETE esa Sea SOUP iia alec oo dh hey Za 


84 LARRY’S ON THE FORCE. 


LARRY’S ON THE FORCE. 


——s 


ELL, Katie, and is this yersilf? And where waa 

you this while? 

And ain’t ye dhrissed? You are the wan to illusthrate 
the stoile ! 

But never moind them matthers now—there’s toime 
enough for thim ; 

And Larry—that’s me b’y—I want to shpake to you 
av him. 


Sure, Larry bates thim all for luck !—’tis he will make 
his way, 

And be the proide and honuur to the sod beyant the 
say— 

We'll soon be able—whist! I do be singing till ’m 
hoorse, 

For iver since a month or more el Larry’s op ae 
foorce ! 


There’s not a private gintleman that boords in all the 
row 
Who houlds himsilf loike Larry does, or makes as foine 
a show: eat 
Thim eyes av his, the way they shoine—his coat and 
butthons too— 
Ue bates them kerrige dhroivers that be on the ee | 


He shtips that proud and gouge a ke you’d think he 
owned the town, | 

And houlds his shtick canvanient to be tappin’ some — 
wan down— 


4 
i 
j 


LARRY’S ON THE FORCE. 85 


Aich blissed day I watch to see him comin’ up the 


sthrate, 
For, by the greatest bit uv luck, our house is on his 


bate. 


The little b’ys is feared av him, for Larry’s moighty 
shtrict, | 

And many’s the litthle blagyard he’s arristed, I expict; 

The beggyars gets acrass the shtrate—you ought to see 
thim fly— 

And organ-groindhers scatthers whin they see him 
comin’ by. 


I know that Larry’s bound to roise; he’ll get a sergent’s 
post, 

And afther that a captincy within a year at most ; 

And ay he goes in politics he has the head to throive—~ 

I'll be an Alderwoman, Kate, afore I’m thirty-foive ! 

What’sthat again? Y’are jokin’, surely—Katie !—is it 
thrue ? , | ; 2 

Last noight, you say, he—married ? and Aileen O’ Dona. 
hue? 

O Larry c’u’d ye have the hairt—but let the spalpeen be ; 

Av he demanes himsilf to her, he’s nothing more to me. 


The ugly sheamp! I always said, just as I’m tellin’ you, 
That Larry was the biggest fool av all I iver knew ; 
And many a toime I’ve tould mesilf—you see it now, ay 
course— | 
He’d niver come to anny good av he got on the foorce! 
Irwin RussEwL. 


_KYARLINA JIM. 


KYARLINA JIM. 


FISHERMAN’S HUT, CHESAPEAKE BAY, 1876, 


HEN you was here some sixteen year 
Or so, aback, you says 
A darkey named Kyarlina Jim, 
He fished f’om dis here place? 


Dat yonder’s him, Kyarlina Jim, 
On de bench dar by de do’ ; 

He have been po’ an’ weak an’ bline 
Sence dat long time ago. 


Yes—dat’s de way he spen’s each day 
O’ de blessed year ’dout fail, 

Wid face turned out’ard to’ds de bay, 
Like watchin’ fur a sail. 


Eben when clouds ’ull come in crowds, 
An’ de beatin’ win’s ’ull blow, 

He still keeps settin’, pashunt, dar 
In his ole place by de do’. 


An’ de sweet sunlight, ’tis jes like night, 
Ter po’ Kyarlina Jim, 

He’s weak an’ bline; so rain an’ shine 
Is all de same ter him. 


Dat chile you see dar on his knee, 
She never fails ter come 

About dis time 0’ ev’ry day 
Ter fetch Kyarlina home. 


MR. SCHMIDT’S MISTAKE, 87 


I seldom cries, but when my eyes 
Lights on de chile an’ Jim, 

Dar’s sumpin sort o’ makes me feel 
Kind,—ter his gal an’ him. 


Another chile he los’ long while 
Ago, ’se heerd him say, | 

Is out dar waitin’ in a boat 
On de blue waves o’ de bay. 


‘I ’specs, bekase o’ what he says, 
Dat chile he los’ ’ull come 
’Fo’ long, jes like dis here one does, . 
An’ fetch Kyarlina home. 
A. C. Gorpon. 


MR. SCHMIDT’S MISTAKE. 


GEEPS me von leetle schtore town Proadway, und 


does a pooty goot peesnis, but I don’t got mooch 
gapital to vork mit, so I finds id hard vork to get me 
oll der gredits vot I yould like. Last veek I hear 
aboud some goots dot a barty vas going to sell pooty 
sheap, und so I writes dot man if he vould gief me der 
refusal of dose goots for a gouple of days. He gafe me 
der refusal—dot is, he sait I gouldn’t haf dem—but he 
sait he vould gall on me und see mine schtOre, und den 
if mine schtanding in peesnis vas goot, berhaps ve might 
do somedings togedder. Vell, I vas behint mine goun- 
ter yesterday, ven a shentleman gomes in und dakes me 
py der hand und say: “Mr. Schmidt, I pelieve.” I 
says, “ Yaw,” und den I dinks to mineself, dis vas der 
man vot has dose goots to sell, und I musd dry to make 


° 


88 MISCHIEVOUS DAISY. 


some goot imbressions mit him, so ve gould do some 
peesnis. “Dis vas goot schtore,” he says, looking 
roundt, “bud you don’t got pooty pig shtock already.” 
I vas avraid to let him know dot I only hat ’bout a 
tousand tollars vort of goots in der blace, so I says: 
“You ton’t vould dink I hat more as dree tousamd 
tollars in dis leedle schtore, aint id?” He says: “ You 
don’t tole me! Vos dot bossible!’ I says: “Yaw.” I 
meant dot id vas bossible, dough id vasn’t so, vor I vas 
like Shorge Vashingtons ven he cut town der “ olt elm” 
on Poston Gommons mit his leetle hadchet, und gouldn’t 
dell some lies aboud id. 

“Vell,” says der shentleman, “I dinks you ought 
to know petter as anypody else vot you haf got in der 
schtore.” Und den he dakes a pig book vrom unter his 
arm und say: ‘ Vell, I poots you town vor dree tousand 
tollars.” [ask him vot he means py “ poots me town,” 
und den he says he vas von off der dax-men, or as. 
sessors of broperty, und he tank me so kintly as nefer 


vos, pecause he say I vas sooch an honest Deutcher, — 


und didn’t dry und sheat der gofermants. I dells you | 


vat it was, I didn’t veel any more petter as a hundord 
ber cent. ven dot man valks oudt of mine schtore, und 
der nexd dime I makes free mit sdrangers I vinds first 
deir peesnis oudt. 

Cuas. F. ApAms. 


MISCHIEVOUS DAISY. | 


ERE’S a d@’eat bid, blat bump on my follid; 
I dot it a fallin’ down ’tairs; 
And a udly wed stratch on my elbow, 
But seems to me nobody tares. 


: 


MISCHIEVOUS DAISY. 


- Mamma has done out in de tallidge, 


An’ wouldn’t let Daisy do too. 
I tored my new d’ss in my tumble; 
De button tame off my s’oe. 


My bid dolly’s head is all b’oten, 
_ Dere’s holes where s’e had her two eyes; 
I wanted to see what’s inside her 

To mate all dat noise when s’e twies, 
And now all de twy is done out her, 

I’m s’ure I don’t know where it’s don— 
It didn’t fall out in de nurse’y, 

*Tause I loot’d for it ever so lon’. 


Nurse says dat my own darlin’ papa 
Will stold me, an say, “ Naughty dirl !” 

*Tause I toot up de scissors an’ tut off 
Dust one ’ittle mite-of a turl. 

Dere’s one sing I did I mus’ tell him— 
Old Mammy don’t know about dat— 


_ [ poured all de tweam out de pitser, 


Wight into his s’iny new hat. 


Dat tweam ’haved itse’f welly badly, 
I wanted to pour it all bat, 
But ’fore I tould put down de pitser 
‘It wan away out of de hat ; 
Wan down on de table an’ carpet, 
All over my mamma’s nice boots, 


. An’ made sut’s a defful bid deaspot 


Oo don’t know how hollid it looks! 


De baby was ’seep in de t’adle, ) 
S’e toot suts’a welly lon’ nap, 


as 


80 


MISCHIEVOUS DAISY. 


When I wanted to hold her a’n tiss her 
And tuddle her up on my lap, 

So I toot ’ittle stit an’ did pote her, 
An’ den s’e was wat’d up wis a twy; 

Den mamma did lose all her pasence, 
And here in de torner am I. 


Nurse says s’e will wite ’ittle letter, 
Tell Santa Taus all I have done, 

So when Tismas mornin’ is tomin’ 
An’ Daisy wates up wis de sun, 

Her stotin’ will han’ dere all empty, 
Wis never a tandy or toy ; 

For Santa Taus dives to dood chillen, 
But stolds de bad dirl an’ bad boy. 


I wonner if papa loots solly, 
I wonner if mamma will, too, 
An’ sate dere heads, an’ say, “ Daisy, 
What is to be done now, wis 00 ?” 
I did do a deat deal of mistif, 
An’ twoubled my nursei an’ was bad; 
I wis I tould be a dood dirly 


An’ mate my dear mamma be dlad! 


I tell her mos’ evely morning, 
“QOor Daisy ’Il "have pitty to-day ;” 
An’ den I fordet, an’ am naughty, 
An’ ’have in a welly sad way ; 
I wis I tould fin’ out de weason 
Dat mates me so naughty an’ wild; 
Yd lite my dear mamma to tall me 
Her own darlin’ dood ’ittle child! 


GRANDPA’S COURTSHIP. 


I dess I'll tell “ dentle Desus,” 
An’ ast Him to help me be dood ; 
He'll hear me wight out of His Heaven, 
For mamma did say dat He tould. 
S’e says dat He loves ’ittle chillen, 
An’ tares for dem all de day lon’ ; 
P’ease Desus, to help ’ittle Daisy, 


Don’t let her do sings dat are wrong. 


Don’t let her dis’bey her dear mamma, 
Nor tease her old mamma no more; 
Don’t let her wate up ’ittle sister, 
Nor f’ow all de pins on de f’oor. 
Don’t let her say words dag are saucy, 
Don’t let her be naughty aden ; 
But mate her a dood ’ittle Daisy ; 
Dear Desus, dat’s all now. Amen. 


9) 


JOANNA MATTHEWS. 


GRANDPA’S COURTSHIP. 


j 


T wan’t so very long ago, ’bout forty year, I guess, 


That I first went a-courting Deacon Bodkin’s darter 


Bess 


nor there). 


She was an orful pretty gal, with yaller orbun hair, 
An’ cheeks as round an’ rosy as any temptin’ peach 
That makes a fellow smack his lips because it’s out of 


reach. 


(Or leastways Betsy was her name, but that aint here 


92 . GRANDPA’S COURTSHIP. 


Hit was down in ole Missoury, an’ I was keepin’ batch | 

When me an’ Betsy Bodkin fust thought about a match ; 

I had a little cabin, an’ a good chunk of a hoss, : 

In Buck Crick bottom, ’side the crick, and Bodkins. 
lived across, 

A. mile orso on t’other side ; an’ when the crick was low 

I used to ford it every day, to see my gal, you know. — 


The Deacon—wal, I reckon now, that he wag putty 
square, 

No better, an’ no wusser, than other people air ; | 

But then he wa’n’t no favorite with me, an’ you kin 
guess 

’*Twas ’cause he couldn’t see the pint of me a-courtin” 
Bess; . a ; ‘ 

An’ when ie found that me an’ her was wantin’ to git 
spheed, 

He rared an’ tore an’ ordered me to git right up an’ 
h’iste. | 


: 


The reason why he got so mad at me is easy told; ) ; 
*Twas ‘cause my trousers pockets wasn’t cluttered up 
with gold. 
He ’lowed that I had better clare, or he would raise a 
breeze ; 
His darter shouldn’t hey aman as poor as ba a 
peas. 
Besides, thar was another chap, a eee wanted Bess; 
He had right smart of money, say a thousand more or 
less. 


But he was mortal humly, an’ stubborn as a mule, . 
An’ Bess declared she wa’n’t a-goin’ to hey no such a 
fool. 


= fe Marah Ce ia bs js peter Vistas eo = AN meet ihe TPP Ry VEL 4 Sd bee 
. 7a : “ 

7 ; ; 

th 


GRANDPA’S COURTSHIP. 93 


An’ when the Deacon rared an’ pitched, an’ ordered me 
away, 

She up and vowed emphatic like, that she would never 
stay } 

To marry any drover that ever wore a hat. 

An’ what the Deacon’s darter said, she meant, and that 
was flat ! 


The Deacon’s wife, Aunt Polly, she sort o’ favored me, 

An’ allus made me welcome, when he warn’t there to 
see ; 

An’ when the Deacon rared an’ swowed that Bess should 
marry Si— 

(The drover’s name was Glas) ot he’d know the reason 
why, 

Aunt Polly sided “long of Bess, an’—wal, I’m free to 
say, 

We got our plans all aay. fur we lowed to run away. 


So Bess she slipped away one day an’ met me in the 


lane ; 

The roads was awful muddy, fur there'd been a power 
of rain, | 

But she clumb up behind me—my horse would carry 
two— | 

An’ off we went toward the crick, the nighest distance 

through, ‘ 

Fur I ‘lowed that we could ford it, bein’ Jeff, my hoss, 
was stout, 

But when we reached the ford, I see my reckonin’ was 
out, 

Fur the rain had riz the crick up, till it got so mortal 
high 


IT see we couldn’t ford it, an’ it wa’n’t no use to try. 


94 GRANDPA’S COURTSHIP. 


An’ jest that very minute, while we was standin’ still, 

We heard the sound of horses’ hoofs a-tearin’ down the 
hill! 

An’ Bess, she gives a little screech, an’ lit right off the 
hoss, 

Fur ’twas her pa a-comin’, with the drover, Silas Cross! 

An’—wal, I had to ’clect my thoughts, an’ that most 
*mazing quick, | 

So I jest made a grab for Bess, an’ jumped right in the 
crick. | 


The water biled around us, but I struck out fur tho 
shore, 
An’ I swum asI don’t reckon I had ever swum before ; 7 
But we got a-crost, an’ there we stood, a-shakin’ with 
the cold, | 
An’ Bess’es hair fell down her back, jest like a showes 


of gold. 
_ But we was safe, an’ so went an’ found some, friends of 
Bess, 
An’ I went fur the preacher, while ae helped her 
cane. her dress. j 
There wa’n’t no licenses them times, an’ ’twasn’t long” 
till we | 


Was man ’an wife, an’ started home, as happy as could” 
be. 


An’ who should be there waitin’, at the bars, but Jeff 
my hoss ; 
I knowed ‘twas safe to leave him, an’ he’d foller me 
across, 
An’—wall, there aint much more to tell, but in about a 
week : 


WET WEATHER TALK. 95 


The Deacon he came walkin’ in a-lookin’ powerful 


meek, 

An’ arter we had ali shuck hands, he says: “That Silas 
Cross, 

Would you believe he was somean? He went an’ stole 
my hoss! 


He did !—the finest hoss I had, the rascally, thievin’ cuss! 
But then, if he had married Bess, ’twould been a blamed 
sight wuss. 


“ An’, Hiram, sence you swum that crick, I’ve thought 
that I an’ you 

Would make good pardners .after all, and Polly thinks 
so too; 

An’ though you stole my darter, Bess, I reckon ’twan’t 
no sin ; 

So come with me, fur Polly wants to see her gal agin.” 

Wal, children, that’s the story I’ve bin promisin’ to 

ou, 

An’ you can ask your grandma if I haven’t told it 


true! 
HELEN WHITNEY CLARK. 


| 


WET WEATHER TALK. 


T aint no use to grumble and complain ; 
It’s just as cheap and easy to rejoice; 
When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, 
W’y, rain’s my choice. 


Men gener’ly to all intents— . 
Although they’re ap’ to grumble some— 


96 WET WEATHER TALK. 


Puts most their trust in Providence, 
And take things as they come— 
That is the commonality - 
Of men that’s lived as long as me © 
Has watched the world enough to learn 
_ They’re not the boss of this concern. 


With some, of course, it’s different— 
I’ve seen young men that knowed it all, 
An’ didn’t like the way things went 
On this terrestrial ball, 
But, all the same, the rain some way 
Rained just as hard.on picnic day ; 
Or. when they really wanted it 
It maybe wouldn’t rain a bit. 


In this existence, dry and wet 

- Will overtake the best of men— 

Some little shift o’ clouds ll shet 

The sun off now and then, 

But maybe as you’re wonderin’ who 
You’ve fool-like lent your umbrella to, 
And want it—out’ll pop the sun, 
And you'll be glad you aint got none. 


It aggervates the farmers, too— 
Ther’s too much wet, or too much sua, 
Or work or waitin’ round to do 
Before the plowin’s done. 
And maybe, like as not, the wheat, 
Jest as it’s lookin’ hard to beat, 
Will ketch the storm—and jest about 
The time the corn’s a jintin out. 


x 


THE WEE, WEE BAIRNIE, 97 


It aint no use to grumble and complain; 
It’s jest as cheap and easy to rejoice ; 
When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, 
W’y, rain’s my choice. 
JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 


THE WEE, WEE BAIRNIE. 


“CYTEP gently, sir, step gently.” 
I stepped hastily back. I feared I had been tread- 
ing on some of the old man’s flowers. 
He leaned on his spade, and made no motion for some 
minutes. At length he raised his head, and in a 


_ husky voice began— 


“ Ay, sir, I mind the time as weel as ’twere yesterday, 
and it’s forty years sine when oor wee, wee bairnie died. 
li was his fourth birthday, and he stopped up tae wait 
till I cam hame wi a bit present for him. I sat doon 
be’ the fire tae wait for my supper (my wife was ben the 
hoose bakin’), when I heard the patterin’ o’ his little 
feet, and I looked up an’ held oot my airms for him, 
He didna come rinnin’ tae them sae quick as usual, an’ 
when I had him on my knees, says I, ‘ An’ fa’ll ye be, 
ye wee bit nickum ?” 

“¢ Tm fayther’s wee, wee bairnie.’ 

“ An’ wi’ that he nestled closer to me. He dinna 
seem cheery, sae I cald the doggie tae ’im, an’ the dog- 
gie cam lazy like frae his corner stretchin’ his legs. 
The bairnie put doon his little han’ an’ strokit the dog’s 
head. But he didna get up an’ play wi't, and seemed 


_ tired-like. 


7 


98 THE WEE, WEE BAIRNIE. 


“¢ Janet,’ ca’d I ben the hoose, ‘what ails the 
bairnie ?” 

“¢ Ails him! said she. ‘Awa’ wi’ ye, naethin’ ails 
him.’ 

“<« But he’s tired like.’ 

“* Hoot,’ saysshe, ‘nae wunner, sittin’ up till this 
time o’ night.’ 

“<< Ah! but it’s nae that; it’s mair than tired he is 
Janet, he’s nae weel.’ Mh: 

“ Janet took up the child in her airms. 

“« Aweel,’ said she, ‘an’ he’s no weel. TI pit him 
tae bed when I’ll hae done wi’ the bakin’; an’ wi’ that 
she set him doon i’ the floor. Forty years it is syne; 
but I can see the laddie standin’ there yet, wi’ his head 
hangin’ owre his clean frock, and his wee bit leggies 
bare tae the knees. 

“* Pit him tae bed the noo, Janet. Dinna min’ the 
cakes.’ | 

“She took him up again in her airms, and as she did 
sae, his wee facie became as pale as death, an’ his little 
body shook a’ ower. I niver waited a meenit, but awa’ 
I ran oot at the door for the doctor as hard as I could 
rin, twa miles across the fields, wi) my heart beatin’ 
hard at every step. The doctor wasna in. Wi’ a sair 
heart I turned back. I stopped runnin’ whan I got till 
oor gate, and walked quietly in. ‘The doctor’s nae in. 
Waur luck,’ said I, as I crassed the door. Nae a word. 
I turned roun’ intae the kitchen, an’ there was such a 
sicht I could niver forget. In ae corner was my wife 
lying on the grun’, and beside her the wee bit bairn— 
nae a soun’ frae either o’ them. I touchit my wife i’ 
th’ shouther, an’ she lookit up, an’ then rose up wiout 
a word, and stood beside me, lookin’ at the form of the 


THE WEE, WEE BAIRNIE. 99 


little laddie. Suddenly he gied a start, an’ held oot his 
airms tae me—‘ Am I no yer ain wee, wee bairnie, 
fayther? ‘Ay, ay,’ saidI. I could hardly speak, an’ I 
knelt doon beside him, an’ took his little hand. My 
wife knelt doon on th’ other side'‘o’ him an’ took his 
other hand, ‘ Yer wee, wee bairnie, he muttered, as if 
tae himsel’—for he had gied himsel’ the name—an’ then 
he had laid his head back, an’ ‘we could see he was gone. 
The doggie cam’ an’ lookit in his face, and lickit his 
han’ and’ then wi’ a low whine went an’ lay down at his 
feet. Niver a tear did we weep; but we sat baith 0’ 
us lookin’ intae the sweet wae facie till th’ mornin’ 
broke in on us. The neebors cam’ i’ the mornin’, an’ I 
rose upand spoke tae them; but my wife, she never 
stirred, nor gied a sound, till ane o’ them spoke o’ when 
_he wad be carried tae the auld kirkyard, ‘Kirkyard, 
said she,‘ kirkyard! Naekirkyard forme. My bairnie 
shall sleep whaur he played—in oor garden. Nae a 
step farer.’ ‘But it'll niver be allowed.’ ‘ Allowed!’ 
cried she. ‘The bairnie shanna stir past the end o’ the 
garden.’ An’ she had her way. Naebody interfered ; 
an’ there he lies jist whaur ye were gaun to pit yer fit, 
an’ there he’ll lie tae the resurrection mornin’. . An’ ilka 
evenin’ my wife comes an’ sits here wi’ her knittin,’ an’ 
we niver tire o’ speakin’ o’ him that lies beneath.” 

And the old man bent down and passed his hand 
over the loose mould as if he were smoothing the pillow 
of his wee, wee bairnie, 


100 OLD WOMAN’S LOVE STORY. 


EVENING SONG ON THE PLANTATION, 


E night-time comin’ an’ de daylight scootin’ ; 

_ De jew-draps fallin’ an’ de big owl hootin’ ; 
You kin soon see de bright stars fallin’ an’ a-shootin’, 
An’ hear de old huntin’-horn blowin’ an’ a-tootin’! 


Oh! de Seben Stars gittin’ up higher an’ higher, 
De supper-time comin’ on nigher an’ nigher ; 
Gwine to cote Miss Dinah by de hick’ry fire 
An’ roas’ dem taters while I settin’ down by her. 


De cat-bird happy when de cherries gettin’ redder ; 

De sheep mighty libely when he grazin’ in de medder; 
But de nigger an’ his little gal settin’ down togedder 
Jes’ happy as a cricket in de sunshiny wedder! 


ReEFRAtn.—Hi O, Miss Dinah, 
Listen to de song! 
Hi O, Miss Dinah, © 
I’s comin’ straight erlong! 
Hi O, Miss Dinah, 
Gwine to see you little later! 
Hi O, Miss Dinah, 
Gwine to help you peel dat ’tater! 
| J. A. Macon. 


OLD WOMAN’S LOVE STORY. 


T was a long time ago, one winter’s eve, and father 
and me were alone in the kitchen. I was a-sewing 
n my. wedding clothes, not that anybody had ever 


OLD WOMAN’S LOVE STORY, . 101 


: asked me to have him, and I didn’t think as anybody 
_ ever would, but I thought I’d be ready in case anybody 


should ask me. Father said to me, said he, “ Samanthy!” 
Said I to him, said I, ‘“ What, sir?’ Said he to me, 


said he, “ Hadn’t you better go to the door?” Said I 


to him, said I, “ No, sir!” For I didn’t hear anything 


at the door; and I went on with my sewing. And after 
awhile I did hear something at the door. And after 
_ awhile father said to me, “ Samanthy, hadn’t you better 
go to the door?” Said I to him, said I, “ Yes, sir.” 
_ And I went to the door, and there stood a man. I was 


aa 


so frightened I didn’t know what to do. And the man 


_ came in and tuck a seat. And father and him went on 
a-talking. And after awhile father said to me, “Sa. 
-manthy!” Said I to him, said I, “ What, sir?” Said 
_he to me, “Samanthy, can’t we have some cider?” Said 
I to him, said: I, “ Yes, sir.’ So I got the cider. I 
filled father’s glass, and I filled the old man’s glass, and 
I filled father’s glass and I filled the old man’s glass 
again; and then they filled their own glasses, and drank 
_up all the cider. Then after awhile father said to me, 


said he, “Samanthy!” Said I to him, said I, “ What, 


sir?” Said he to me, said he, “ Hadn’t I better go to 
bed?’ Said I to him, said I, “ Yes, sir.” And he 
took his candle and lit it, and went away and left me 
alone with that strange man. I was so frightened I 
didn’t know what to do. And the man said to me, 
_a-moving his chair closer to mine, said he, “ Samanthy.” 
Said. I to him, said I, “ What, sir?’ Said he to me, 
said he, “Samanthy, won’t you have me?” Said I to 
hin, said I, “No, sir.” And with that I moved away, 
and he moved his chair closer to mine again, and said 
he to me, said he, “Samanthy, ’m only going to ask 


102 ANNIE’S 'WCKET. ‘ 


you twice more. Won’t you have me?” Said J to him, 
said I, “ No, sir.” And with that I moved away again. 
And he moved his chair still closer to mine again, and 
said he to me, said he, “ Samanthy, won’t you have me?” 
Said I to him, said I, “ Yes, sir.’ For I was so fright 
ened I didn’t know what else to say. 


» 


ANNIE’S TICKET. 


LEASE, sir, I have brought you the ticket 
You gave her a short week ago— 

My own little girl I am meaning, 

The one with the fair hair, you know, 
And the blue eyes so gentle and tender, 

And sweet as the angels above. 
God help me, she’s one of them now, sir, 

And I’ve nothin’ at all left to love. 


It came on me sudden, ye see, sir; 
She was never an ailin’ child, 
Though her face was as white as a lily 
And her ways just that quiet and mild. 
The others was always a trouble, 
And botherin’, too, every way, 
But the first tears that ever she cost me 
Are them that I’m sheddin’ to-day. 


*Twas on Tuesday night that she sickened, 
She’d been blithe as a bird all day, 
Wid the ticket ye gave her, 
And never another word 


ANNIE’S TICKET. 


But “ Mammie, just think of the music,” 
And, “Mammie, they’ll give us ice-cream. 
We can roll on the turf and pick posies; 
O Mammie! it’s just like a dream!” 


And so, when the fever came on her, 
It seemed the one thought in her brain. 
*T would have melted the heart in your breast 
To hear her, again and again, 
Beggin’, ‘“‘ Mammie, oh! plaze get me ready, 
_ The boat will be goin’ off, I say, 
I hear the bell ring. Where's me ticket? 
Oh! won’t we be happy to-day !” 


Three days she raved with the fever, 

Wid her face and her hands in a flame, 
But on Friday at noon she grew quiet, 

She knew me, and called me by name. 
My heart gave a leap when I heard it, 

But, O sir! it turned me to stone, 

The look on the face, pinched and drawn like, 
I knew God had sent for His own. 


And she knew it too, sir, the creature, 
And said, when I told her the day, 
In her weak little voice, ‘‘ Mammie, darlin’, 
Bon’t cry ’cause I’m goin’ away. 
To-morrow they’ll go to the picnic— 
They’ll have beautiful times, I know, 
But Heaven is like it, and better, 
And so I am ready to go. 


* And Mammie, I aint a bit frightened, 
There’s many a little girl died, 


103 


104 THE PINE TOWN DEBATING SOCIETY. 


And it seems like the dear lovin’ Saviour 
Was standin’ right here by me side. 

Take my ticket, dear Mammie, and ask them 
If some other child, poor and sick. 

That hasn’t got Heaven and Jesus, 
May go in my place and be glad.” 


And then, with “ Good-bye, Mammie darlin’,” 
She drew my lips down to her own, 

And the One she had felt close beside her 
Bent too, and I sat there alone. 

And so I have brought you the ticket, 
Though me heart seems ready to break, 

To ask you to let some poor creature 


Feel glad for my dead darlin’s sake. 


THE PINE TOWN DEBATING SOCIETY. 


(From Harper’s Magazine.) 


QUESTION FoR DrBaTE: ‘‘ Which hab produced de mos 
wonders—de lan’ or de water ?” 


HE meeting having been called to order, the chair- 
man said, “ Water takes de lead.” 

Dr. Crane came forward. Hesaid: “Mr. Chaarman, 
geografers tell us dat one-quarter of de yaarth’s surface 
is lan’ an’ three-quarters is water; in one squaar foot of 
dat water is more wonders dan in forty squaar rods of 
lan’. Dese chillen settin’ round hyar can figger on dat. 
Dat’s a argyment I introduce jus’ to keep the chillen 
quiet awhile. When you spill water on a table it 
spreads out all thin—on a clean table, I mean. Now, 
sposen de table dusty. Note de change. De water 


é 
Ms 
; 
: 
: 
: 
: 


F 
. 
- 


HE PINE TOWN DEBATING SOCIETY. 408 


peparates in globules. (For de information of some of 
de folks, { would explain that globules is drops, separated 
drops.) Now, why is dat? Isn’tdat wonderful? Can 
de lan’ do like dat? No, saar. Dere’s no such wonder 
in de lan’.” 

Mr, Laukins said: ‘‘ Mr..Chaarman, I don’t see nothin’ 
wonderful in de water gettin’ in drops on de dusty table. 
Dat’s the natcher ob de water. Dere’s nothing wonder- 


ful in anything actin’ accordin’ to natcher. Sposen it 


wasn’t its natcher, what causes it to get into drops? De 


dust. Dr pustr! de Jan’! de lan’! De wonder’s in de 


lan’, after all. Mr. Chaarman, Dr. Crane makes no 
_ argyment for de water at all, but all for de lan’. He 


makes a pint dat de table should be dusty. De dust 


makes de wonderful change in de water, an’ dust is 


Jan’?! I wants no better argyment for de lan’ dan 
_ Dr. Crane makes.” 


Mr. Hunnicut said: “ Mr. Chaarman, speakin’ ob de 


wonders in de water, I take my position on Niagary 


Falls—de gran’, stupenjus, majestic wonder ob de hole 


_ world. Dere’s no such or-inspiring objeck in de lan’, 


Den see the waterfalls ob minor importance scattered 
all ober de face ob de yaarth. Whoeber saw de lan’ 
rollin’ ober de precipice like de water? See de mitey 
oshun. She hole up theship full ob frate and passengers 
widout props, an’ yit de ship move along in de water if 
jus’ a little wind touch her. Put de ship on de lan’ an’ 
load her ; forty locomotives tear her all to pieces ’fore 
she move. Dr. Crane tells us dere’s more wonders in 


- one squaar foot ob water dan in forty rods ob lan’ 


He’s right. Why, one night las’ week I’s ober to Doe 
Russell’s house, an’ de ole doctor he ax me would I like 


to see a drop ob water in his glass (his magnifyin’ 


106 THE PINE TOWN DEBATING SOCIETY. 


glass, I mean); I tole um sartinly. So he rig up de 
glass, an’ when he got um all right, he tole me to take 
a good look. Well, Mr. Chaarman, in dat one drop ob 
water I seed more wonders than I eber saw in de whole 
course ob my life. Dere wos a animal like a gran’- 
mother’s nightcap with one string, a-scootin’ roun’ after 
another thing like a curry-comb with a flounced handle. 
Dere was a year ob corn wid a ruffle down each side, 
an’ the fust thing I knowed a six-legged bass drum 
come swimmin’ along an’ jes’ swallowed it. Talk about 
wonders on de lan’, dey aint a patchin’ to de water.” 

Mr. Lewman said: “ De fust part ob Mr. Hunnicut’s 
argyment, seems to me, is all for de lan’. Dere would 
be no Niagary or any odder falls if de lan’ wasn’t in. 
such amos’ wonderful shape to make falls. De water 
falls ’cause dat’s its natcher. Jus’ look right here in 
Mount Vernon. Dere’s Norton’s dam; dere’s de same 
principle, the same law ob natchur. Take away de dam, 
de water is no more dan common water. No, saar, 
dhere’s no wonder in de water at Niagary. De wonder 
is in de lan’.” | 

Dr. Crane said: “ Perhaps it’s not generally known 
but still it is a fac’, dat if it’s not for de water in de air, 
we'd all die. Dere mus’ be water in de air we take into 
our lungs to sustain life. An’, strange as it may seem, 
dere mus’ be water in the air to sustain combustion. 
You could not kindle a fire were it not for de aqueous. 
gases ob de air. (By aqueous I mean watery.) I call 
dat wonderful—lI can see nothing like it in de lan’—dat 
de water which put out de fire is necessary to make the 
are burn.” 

Mr. Morehouse said: ‘“ Mr. Chaarman, I hope dat 
you ll rule out all dat Dr. Crane jus’ said. Instruct de 


ea 


THE PINE TOWN DEBATING SOCIETY. 107 


Committee not to take no ’count ob it. Sich talk’s too 
much fool nonsense. (Excuse my ’spression, but I get 
so excited when I hear sich tomfoolery an’ ridiculus 
slush in a ’spectable meetin’, dat I forgets myself, an’ 
don’t know for de minit wedder I’s drivin’ a mule wag- 
gin’ or in meetin’. ‘Scuse me, an’ I’ll try to keep my 
feelin’s down. But, as I say, when sich trash is lugged- 
in as sinsible argyment, it riles me.) Dr. Crane says 
we mus’ hab water to breeve I daar him to de trial. 
He may go down an’ stick his college hed (excuse me, 
saar), his eddicated hed, in de creek, an’ take his breevin’ 
dar, saar, an’ I’ll take my stan’ an’ my breevin’ on dis plat- 
form by de stove, an’ let de Committee decide de case on 


- de merits ob de proof on who holes out de longest. Den 


listen to what he says about water makin’ de fire burn. 
Did you eber—did you eber hyaar de like? Now, 
‘cordin’ to Dr. Crane, s’posen I wants to start a fire in 
dis yar stove. I gets some shavin’s an’ den puts insome 
pine kindlin’s, den berry carefully pour on a little, jes’ 
a little, karysene, den puts on a few nice pieces ob coal, 


lights a match, sticks her to de shavin’s, and she don’t 


burn ; I lights a newspaper an’ frows her under de grate ; 
de shavin’s don’t light. I gits mad, an’ I slaps in a 
bucket of water, an’ away she goes, all a-blazin’ in a 
second. Qh, shaw! sich bosh! Don’t take no ’count 
ob dat. It would be a wonder if it was true; but, oh 
my! what cabbage it is. Jedges, don’t take no ’count 
ob sich idle talk. Isay, saar, dat the lan’ produce de 
mos’ wonders. Look at de trees, de flowers, de grain, 
de cabbages, de inyuns, dat spring up out,ob de lan’. 
Look at de Mammoth Cave, more wonderful dan all de 
falls dat ebber fell. See how de bore in de groun’ fifteen 


- hundred feet an’ more, and out come coal-oil two thou: 


108 BURGLAR BILU. 


sand bar’l a minit. Id jes’ like to see any dese water 
folks bore a hole fifteen hundred feet down into de ocean, 
an’ pump out one gallon ob coal-oil in an hour. Can 
you dig down in de ocean or in de lakes an’ git out gold 
an’ silber, an’ iron, an’ coal? Can you build a raleroad 
on de ocean, an’ cut a tunnel thru de waters? No, 
saar.” 

Mr. Hunnicut said: “It’s jus’ ’curred to my mind, 
on Mr, Morehouse speakin’ ’bout de trees an’ de grass 
an’ de inyuns an’ cabbages, dat when I was out in de 
fur Wes’ I allus notice dat on de plains, on de moun- 
tains, anywhere away from de streams, no timber grows, 
no wegitation, no grass, mos’ly barr’n; but all long de 
streams dere’s de grass, de trees, de wegitation. Why? 
"Cause ob de moistureness, de water. So, *pears to 
me dat de cause ob all de b’utiful wegitation, after all, 
is de water. Aint dat so, saar?” 

Several other speeches were made on both sides. 
The Committee decided about as follows: “ De advo- 
cates ob water hab made a good showin’, considerin’ how 


little we really know about water. But as we is more — 


sure ob de lan’, we mus’ decide in favor ob de lan’, but 
recommend de water side as deserbin’ high credit for 
deir investigations, an’ de instruction an’ edifyin’ ob de 


999 


meetin’. ANON. 


BURGLAR BILL. 


eee a window in the attic brawny Burglar 
Bill has crept ; 
Stealthily he seeks a chamber where the jewelry is 
kept 


BURGLAR BILL. — 108 


He is furnished with a jimmy, centre-bit, and carpet. 
bag— 

For the latter “comes in handy,” as he says, “ to stow 
the swag.” 

Here, upon the second landing, he secure may work his 
will; 

Down below’s a dinner-party—up above the house ig 
still. 

Suddenly—in spell-bound horror—all his satisfaction 
ends— 

For a little white-robed figure by the banister descends! 

Bill has reached for his revolver—but he hesitates to fire: 

Child is it, or apparition, that provokes him to perspire? 

Can it be his guardian angel, sent to stay his hand from 
crime? 

He could wish she had selected some more seasonable 
time ! 

“Go away!” he whimpers, hoarsely. “ Piraiss have 
their bread to earn ! 

I don’t need no gordian angel comin’ givin’ me a turn!” 
But the blue eyes open wider, ruby lips revear their 
pearl :— \ 

“Tis not a garden angel—l i is dust a yickel girl! 
On the thairs to thit I’m doin’ till the tarts and jellies 


tum ; 

Partinthon, the butler, alwayth thaves for Baby Bella 
thome! 

Poor man ’oo is lookin’ ’ungry—leave ’oo burgling fings 
up dere, | 


Tum along an’ have some sweeties, thitting on the bot- 
tom thair.” 

“ Reely, miss, you must excoose me,” says the burglar, 
with a jerk; 


110 BURGLAR BILL. 


“ Dooty calls, and time is pressing—I must set about 
my work !” 

“Ts ’00 work to. bweak in houses? Nana told meso, ~ 
I’m sure! 

Will ’oo try if ’00 can manage to bweak in my doll’s- 
house door ? 

I tan never det it undone, so my dollies tan’t det out ; 

They don’t like the fwont to open every time they’d 
walk about ! 

Twy—and if ’oo does it nicely, when I’m thent upthairs 
to theep, 

I will bring ’oo up some goodies—which thall be for ’oo 
to keep!” 

Off the little angel flutters—but the burglar wipes his 
brow, | 

He is wholly unaccustomed to a kindly greeting now, 

Never with a smile of welcome has he seen his entrance 
met ! : 

Nobody (except the policeman) ever wanted him as 
yet ! 

Many a stately home he’s entered—but, with unobtru- — 
sive tact, 

He has ne’er, in paying visits, called attention to the 
fact. : | 

Gain he counts it, on departing, if he has avoided strife, 

Ah! my brothers, but the burglar’s is a sad and lonely 
life ! 

All forgotten are the jewels, once the purpose of his 

6 j ob,” j 

As he sinks upon the doormat with a deep and choking 
sob! 

Then, the infant’s plea recalling, seeks the nursery 
above, 


¢ BURGLAR BILL. 111 


Looking for the Lilliputian crib he is to crack—for 


love | 

In the corner stands the doll’s house, gayly painted green 
and red ; 

And the door declines to open—even as the child haa 
said! 

Out comes centre-bit and jimmy, all his implements are 
plied ; 

Never has he burgled better, as he feels with honest 
pride! 

Deftly now the task’s accomplished—for the door will 
open well— 

When a childish voice behind him breaks the silence 
like a bell— 


“Sank ’oo, Missa Burglar, sank ’oo; and, betause ’o0’s 
been tho nice, 

See, I’ve bwought ’oo up a tartlet-—gweat big gweedies 
eat the ice! 

Pappa says he wants to see ’00—Partinthon is tummin’ 
too 

Tan’t’oo stay?” * * * “Well, not this evenin’, so, 
my little dear—adovo !” 

Fast he speeds across the house-tops—but his bosom 
throbs with bliss, 

For upon his rough lips linger traces of a baby’s kiss. 

Dreamily on downy pillow Baby Bella murmurs sweet : 

“ Burglar, tum adain an’ thee me—I will dive ’oo cakes 
to eat!” 

In his garret, worn and weary, Burglar Bill has sunk 
to rest, 

Clasping tenderly a damson tartlet to his burly breast! 


ey en Om 


112, AUNT PARSONS’S STORY. 


AUNT PARSONS’S STORY. 


TOLD Hezekiah—that’s my man. People mostly 

call him Deacon Parsons, but he never gets any 
deaconing from me. We were married—‘ Hezekiah 
and Amariah ’—that’s going on forty years ago, and 
he’s jest Hezekiah to me, and nothin’ more. 

Well, as I was saying, says I, “ Hezekiah, we aren’t 
right. I am sure of it.” And he said, “ Of course not. 
We are poor sinners, Amy ; all poor sinners.” And I 
said, ‘ Hezekiah, this, ‘ poor sinner’ talk has gone on 
Jong enough. I suppose we are poor sinners, but I 
don’t see any use of being mean sinners; and there’s 
one thing I think is real mean.’ 

It was jest after breakfast, and, as he felt poorly, he 
hedn’t gone to the ary yet; and so I had this little 

talk with him to sort o’ chirk him up. He knew what 
I was comin’ to, for we hed had the subject up before. It 
was our little church. He always said, “The poor peo- 
ple, and what should we ever do?” And I always said, 

“We never shall do nothin’ unless we try.” And so, 
when I brought the matter up in this way, he just 
began biting his toothpick, and said, “ What’s up now? 

Who’s mean? Amariah, we oughtn’t to speak evil of 
one another.’? Hezekiah always says “ poor sinners,” 
and doesn’t seem to mind it; but when I occasionally - 
say, “mean sinners,” he somehow gits oneasy. But I 
was started, and I meant to free ae mind. ; 

So I ‘said, says I, “I was goin’ to confess our sins. 
Dan’! confessed for all his people, and I was confessin — 
for all our little church. j 

“Truth is,” says I, “ ours is allus called one of the) 


AUNT PARSONS’S STORY. 113 
‘feeble churches,’ and I am tried about it. I’ve raised 
seven children, and at fourteen months old every boy 
and girl of ‘em could run alone. And our church is | 
fourteen years old,” says I, “‘and it can’t take a step | 
yet without somebody to hold on by. The Board helps 
us, and General Jones, good man, he helps us—helps too 
much, I think—and so we live along; but we don’t» 
seem to get strong. Our people draw their rations 
every year as the Indians do up at the agency, and it 
doesn’t seem sometimes as if they ever thought of doing 
anything else. 

“ They take it so easy,” I said. ‘ That’s what worries 
me. I don’t suppose we could pay all expenses, but we 
might act as if we wanted to, and as if we meant to do 
all we can. 

“T read,” says I, “last week about the debt of the 
Board ; and this week, as I understand,” says I, “our 
application is going in for another year, and no particu- 
lar effort to do any better; and it frets me. I can’t 
sleep nights, and I can’t take comfort Sundays. Ive 
got to feelin’ as if we were a kind of perpetual paupers. 
And that was what I meant when I said, ‘It is real 
mean!’ I suppose I said it a little sharp,” says I, “ but 
Vd rather be sharp than flat any day ; and if we don’t 
- begin to stir ourselves, we shall be flat enough before 
long, and shall deserve to be. It grows on me. It has 
jest been ‘Board, Board, Board,’ for fourteen years, 

and I’m tired of it. I never did like boardin’,” says I, 
“ and even if we were poor, I believe we might do some- 
thing toward settin’ up housekeepin’ for ourselves. 
“ Well, there’s not many of us—about a hundred, I 
believe, and some of these is women-folks, and some is 
jest girls and boys. And we all have to work hard, - 
8 


114 AUNT PARSONS’S STORY. 


and live close; but,’’ says I, “let us show a disposition 
if nothing more. Hezekiah, if there’s any spirit left in 
us, let us show some sort of a disposition.” 

And Hezekiah had his toothpick in his teeth, and 
looked down at his boots, and rubbed his chin as he 
always does when he’s goin’ to say somethin’. “I think 
there’s some of us that shows # disposition.” 

Of course I understood that hit, but I kep’ still. I 
kep’ right on with my argument, and I said, “ Yes, and 
a pretty bad disposition it is. It’s a disposition to let 
ourselyes be helped when we ought to be helping our- 
selves. It’s a disposition to le still and let somebody 
carry us. And we are growing up cripp.es—only we 
don’t grow. | 

“°Kaah,” says I, “do you hear me?” Sometimes 
when I want to talk a little he jest shets his eyes, and 
begins to rock himself back and forth in the old arm- 
chair, and he was doin’ that now. So I said, “ Kiah, 
do you hear?’ And he said, “Some!” and I went on. 
“ ve got a proposition,” says I. And he sort 0’ looked 
up, and said, ““ Héy you? Well, between a disposition 
and a proposition, I guess the proposition might be 
better.” 

He’s awful sarcrostic, sometimes. But I wasn’t goin’ 
to get riled, nor thrown off the track; so I jest said, 
“Yes, do you and I git two shillin’s’ worth apiece, a 
week, out o’ that blessed little church o’ ourn, do you 
think ?” says I. “Cos, if we do, I want to give two 
shillin’s a week to keep it goin’; and I thought maybe 
you could do as much.” So he said he guessed we could 
stand that ; and I said, “ That’s my proposition, and I 
mean to see if we can’t find somebody else that’ll do 
the same. It'll show disposition, anyway.” 


AUNT PARSONS’S STORY. 115 


ae 


“Well, I suppose you'll have your own way,” says he; 
“you most always do.” And I said, “Isn’t it most 
allers a good way?” Then I brought out my subscrip- 
tion paper. I had it all ready. I didn’t jest know how 
to shape it, but I knew it was something about “the 
sums set opposite our names ;” and so I drawed it up 
and took my chances. “ You must head it,” says I 
“because you're the oldest deacon; and I must go on 
next, because I am the deacon’s wife; and then I’1l see 
some of the rest of the folks.” 

So ’Kiah sot down, and put on his specs, and took his 
pen, but did not write. ‘ What’s the matter?” says I. 
And he said, “I’m sort o’ ’shamed to subscribe two 
shillin’s. I never signed so little as that for any 
thing. I used to give that to the circus when I was 
nothin’ but a boy, and I ought to do more than that to 
support the gospel. Two shillin’ a week! Why, it’s 
only a‘ shillin’ a sermon, and all the prayer-meetin’s 
throwed in. I can’t go less than fifty cents, I am sure.” 


_ So down he went for fifty cents; and then I signed for 


a quarter, and then my sunbonnet went onto my head 
pretty lively, and says I, “ Hezekiah, there’s some cold 
potato in the pantry, and, you know where to find the 
salt; so, if I am not back by dinner-time, don’t be 


_ bashful, help yourself.” And I started. 


I called on the Smith family first. I felt sure of 
them. And they were just happy. Mr. Smith signed, 
and so did Mrs. Smith; and Long John, he came in 
while we were talkin’, and put his name down; and 
then old Grandma Smith, she didn’t want to be left 
out; so there was four of ’em. I’ve allers found it a 
great thing in any great enterprise to enlist the Smith 


family. There’s a good many of ’em. Next I called 


116 | AUNT PARSONS’S STORY. 


on the Joslyns, and next on the Chapins, and then on 
the Widdy Chadwick, and so I kept on. 

I met a little trouble once or twice, but not much. — 
There was Fussy Furber; and bein’ trustee, he thought 
. Iwas out of my spear, he said; and he wanted it un- 
derstood that such work belonged to the trustees. “To 
be sure,” says 1; “I’m glad I’ve found it out. I wish 
the trustees had discovered that a leetle sooner.” Then 
there was sister Puffy that’s got the asthma. She 
thought we ought to be lookin’ after “the sperritooali- 
ties.’ She said we must get down before the Lord. 
She didn’t think churches could be run on money. But 
I told her I guessed we should be jest as spiritual to 
look into our pocketbooks a little, and I said it was a 
shame to be ’tarnally beggin’ so of the Board. 

She looked dredful solemn when I said that, and I 7 
almost felt as I’d been committin’ profane language. 
But I hope the Lord will forgive me if I took anything 
in vain. I did not take my call in vain, I tell you. 
Mrs. Puffy is good, only she allus wanted to talk so 
pious; and she put down her two shillin’s and then 
hove asigh. Then I found the boys at the cooper-shop, | 
and got seven names there at one lick; and when the 
list began to grow, people seemed ashamed to say no; 
and I kept gainin’ till I had jest an even hundred, and 
then I went home. | 

Well, it was pretty well toward candle-light when I 
got back, and I was that tired I didn’t know much of 
any thing. Ive washed, and I’ve scrubbed, and I’ve 
baked, and I’ve cleaned house, and I’ve biled soap, and 
Pve moved; and I low that a’most any one of that 
sort of thing is a little exhaustin’. But put your 
bakin’ and movin’ and bilin’ soap all together, and it~ 


ee aa a oli BS A a ain 


i a as et a it Ee cea a ia aie aaa 


AUNT PARSONS’S STORY. 117 


_ won’t work out as much genuine tired soul and body as 


one day with a subscription paper to support the gospel. 
Bo when I sort 0’ dropped into a chair, and Hezekiah 
said, “ Well?” I was past speakin’; and I put my check 
apron up to my face as I hadn’t done since I was a 


_ young, foolish girl, and cried. I don’t know what I 


felt so bad about, I don’t know as I did feel bad. But 
I felt cry, and I cried. And ’Kiah, seein’ how it was, 
felt kind o’ sorry for me, and set some tea a-steepin’; 
and when I had had my drink with weepin’, I felt 
better. JI handed him the subscription paper, and he 
looked it over asif he didn’t expect any thing; but 
soon he began saying, “I never! I never!” And I 
said: “Of course you didn’t; you never tried. How 
much is it?” “ Why, don’t you know ?” says he. “ No,” 


~Isaid; “I aint quick in figures, and I hadn’t time to 


foot it up. LI hope it wis make us out this year three 
hundred dollars or so.’ 

“Amy,” says he, “you’re a einai prodigal, I 
may say—and you don’t knowit. A hundred names at 
two shillin’ each gives us twenty-five dollars a Sunday. 
Some of ’em may fail, but most of ’em is good; and 
there is ten, eleven, thirteen, that sign fifty cents. 
That 1] make up what fails. That paper of yourn ’ll 
give us thirteen hundred dollars a year!” I jumped 
up like I was shot. “ Yes,” he says, “we sha’n’t need 
any thing this year from the Board. This church, for 


~~ this year at any rate, is self-supporting.” 


We both sot down and kep’ still a minute, when I 
said kind o’ softly : ‘‘ Hezekiah,” says I, “ isn’t it about 


time for prayers?” I was just chokin’; but as he took 


down the Bible, he said, “I guess we aa better sing 


- gomethin’.” I nodded like, and he just struck in. We 


118 ‘ AUNT PARSONS’S STORY. 


often sing at prayers in the morning, but now it seemed 
like the Scripter that says, “He giveth songs in the 
night.” ’Kiah generally likes the solemn tunes, too ; 
and we sing “ Show pitv, Lord,” a great deal; and this 
mornin’ we had sung “ Hark! from the tombs a doleful 
sound,” ’cause "Kiah was not feelin’ very well, and we 
wanted to chirk up a little. 

So I just waited: to see what metre he’d strike to- 
night; and would you believe it? JI didn’t know that 
he knew any sech tune. But off he started on “ Joy to 
the world, the Lord is come.” I tried to catch on, but 
he went off lickerty-switch, like a steam-engine, and I 
couldn’t keep up. I was partly laughin’ to see ’Kiah 
go it, and partly crying again, my heart was so full; so 
I doubled up some of the notes, and jumped over the 
others; and so we safely reached the end. 

But, I tell you, Hezekiah prayed. He allers prays 
. well; but this was a bran’ new prayer, exactly suited 
so the occasion. And when Sunday come, and the 
minister got up and told what had been done, and said, 
“Tt is all the work of one good woman, and done in 
one day,’ I just got scared and wanted to run. And 
when some of the folks shook hands with me after 
meetin’, and said, with tears in their eyes, how Id 
saved the church, and all that, I came awful- nigh 
gettin’ proud. But, as Hezekiah says, “we're all poor 
sinners,” and so I choked it back. But I am glad I~ 
did it; and I don’t believe our church will ever go 
boarding any more. 

PRESBYTERIAN JOURNAL. 


THE INVENTORS WIFE. 119 


THE INVENTOR’S WIFE. 


rs 


Eas easy to talk of the patience of Job. Humph! 
Job hed nothin’ to try him! 
Ef he’d been married to ’Bijah Brown, folks wouldn’t 
have dared come nigh him. 
Trials, indeed? Now ll tell you what—ef you want 
to be sick of your life, — 
Jest come and change places with me a spell—for ’m 
an inventor’s wife. 
And such inventions! I’m never sure, when J take up 
my coffee-pot, 
That ’Bijah haint been “ improvin 
go off like a shot. 
Why, didn’t he make me a cradle once, that would keep 
itself a-rockin’ ; 
And didn’t it pitch the baby out, and wasn’t his head 
bruised shockin’ ? 
_ And there was his “ Patent Peeler,” too—a wonderful 
thing, I'll say ; 
But it hed one fault—it never stopped till the apple 
was peeled away. 
As for locks and Gene and mowin’ machines and 
reapers, and all such trash, 
_ Why, ’Bijah’s invented heaps of ’em, but they don’t 
bring in no cash. 
Law! that don’t worry him—not at all; he’s the most 
. ageravatin’est man— 
He’ll set in his little workshop there, and whistle, and 
think, and plan, 
Inventin’ a jew’s-harp to go by steam, or a new-fangled 
powder-horn, 


*” it and jt mayn’t 


120 THE INVENTOR’S WIFE. 


While the children's goin’ barefoot to school and tie 
weeds is chokin’ our corn. 

When ’Bijah and me kep’ company, he warn’t like this, 

_ you know ; 

Our folks all thought he was dreadful smart—but that 
was years ago. 

He was handsome as any pictur then, and he had such 
a glib, bright way— 

I never thought that a time would come when I'd rue 
my weddin’ day ; 

But when I’ve been forced to chop the wood, and tend 
to the farm beside, 

And look at ’Bijah a-settin’ there, I’ve jest dropped 
down and cried. 

We lost the hull of our turnip crop while he was ir- 
ventin’ a gun; 

But I counted it one of my marcies hen it bw st 
before ’twas done. | 

So he turned it into a “burglar alarm.” It ought to 
give thieves a fright— : 

’T would scare an honest man out of his wits, ef he sot it 
off at night. 

Sometimes I wonder if ’Bijah’s crazy, he does sech 
cur’ous things. 

Hey I told you about his bedstead yit?—’Twas full at 
wheels and springs ; 

Tt hed a key to wind it up, and a clock face at the head ; 

All you did was to turn them hands, and at any hour 
you said, 

That bed got up and shook itself, and bounced you on 
the floor, 

And then shet up, jes like a box, so you couldn't sleep 
any more. 


THE INVENTOR’S WIFE. 12) 


q Waal, ’Bijah he fixed it all complete, and he sot it at 


half-past five, 
But he hadn’t mor’n got into it when—dear me! sakes 
alive ! | 


Them wheels began to whiz and whir! I heerd a fear- 


-ful snap! 
And there was that bedstead, with ’Bijah inside, shet up 
jest like a trap! 


- I screamed, of course, but ’twan’t no use, then I worked 


that hull long night 


. A-trying to open the pesky thing. At last I gotin a 


fright ; 


~ I couldn’t hear his voice inside, and I thought he might 


be dyin’ ; 


~ So I took a crow-bar and smashed it inThere was 


’Bijah peacefully lyin’, 


_ Inventin’ a way to git out agin. That was all very well 


to say, 
But I don’t b’lieve he’d have found it out if I’d left him 
in all day. 


Now, sence I’ve told you my story, do you wonder ’m 


tired of life ? 
Or think it strange I often wish I warn’t an inventor’s 
wife? | | 
Mrs. E. T. CorBert. 


OVA DER DEUTSCHER’S MAXIM. 


DER DEUTSCHER’S MAXIM. 


HERE vas vot you call a maxim 
Dot I hear der oder day, 
Und I wride id in mine album, 
So id don’d could got avay ; 
Und I dells mine leedle Yawcob 
He moost mind vot he’s aboud: 
“Tis too late to lock der shtable 
Vhen der horse he vas gone oudt.”’ 


Vhen I see ubon der corners 
Off der shtreets, most efry night, 
Der loafers und der hoodlums, 
Who do nix but shvear und fight, 
I says to mine Katrina: 
“ Let us make home bright und gay 3 
Ve had petter lock der shtable, 


So our colts don’d got avay.” 


Vhen you see dhose leedle urchins, 

Not mooch ofer knee-high tall 
Shump righdt indo der melon patch, 

Shust owf der garden vall, | 
Und vatch each leedle rashkell 

Vhen he cooms back mit hees “ boodye,” 
Look oudt und lock your shtable, 
- So your own nag don’d shkydoodle! 


Vhen der young man at der counter 
Vants to shpecgulate in shtocks, 

Und buys hees girl some timand rings, 
Und piles righdt oup der rocks, 


Bier = 


YOURS, TRULY. a NED 


Look oudt for dot young feller ; 
Id vas safe enuff to say 

Dot der shtable id vas empty, 
Und der horse vas gone avay. 


Dhen dake Time by der fetlock ; 
Don’d hurry droo life’s courses ; 
Rememper vot der poet says, 
“ Life’s but a shpan ’’—off horses ; 
Der poy he vas der comin’ man; 
Be careful vhile you may ; 
Shust keep der shtable bolted, 
Und der horse don’d got avay. 
CHARLES FoLLEN ADAMS. 


YOURS, TRULY. 


“ A MAZIN GRACE,” said Mrs. Pilsbury, as she sat 


with her daughter at their afternoon sewing, “be 

yew goin’ to piece a quilt ?” : 

“ What fur, mother ?” 

“Why, aint Mr. Van Vleet been to see you twice’t 
runnin’ lately? He’s axed ye, I s’pose, to hev him?” 

“ An’ I guiv him the mitten.” 

“Sho! you wouldn’t be half sosilly! Why, he’s wuth 
a dozen ord’nary men. You mought go further and 


fare wuss.” 


“ Jest what I’m goin’ to dew.” 
“ Did yew tell him so ?” 
“No, I writ; now, mother, let me be; I aint goin’ to 


124 YOURS, TRULY. 


marry no man thet thinks I’m jumpin’ et the chance. 
I'd a heap ruther be an old maid.” 

There was nothing said for some time; then the widow 
asked : 

“ When did yew write, ’Mazin?” 

“A day or so past.” . 

“Where did you get a pen?” 

“T borrowed one. Mebbe you'd like to know what I 
gaid tew him ?”’ 

““You’ve guessed rite,” said the widow, eagerly. 

“Tt aint nuthin’ to nobody but us, mother, s’long as 
I didn’t have him,” said the girl, curtly ; and no more 
was said, but the widow sighed heavily, and held her — 
hand to her left side. 

Amazin knew that it meant her heart, for she had 
been brought up to respect that organ as an intimidating 
power. ‘This time she did not relent, but wondered why 
she could not like that big, good-looking Van Vleet — 
well enough to marry him, for they were poor—poor as — 
that historic church-mouse—and he was well off. . 

But they were not mercenary. People called them — 
simple folks; perhaps because they lacked education, © 
and believed everything that was told them. But they 
were good as gold. The widow’s face and form, lank — 
and ungainly, were familiar to every sick-room. They — 
rendered unto Cesar the things that were Cesar’s, © 
They owed no man anything, though they worked early — 
and late to accomplish it. They were good to every- — 
body and everything, and Amazin Grace (her mother — 
had named her after the hymn commencing “ Amazing — 
Grace, how sweet the sound”) was really pretty. So — 
thought big, hulking, shame-faced Van Vleet when he — 
came a-courting her with his trowsers tucked into cow- q 


YOURS, TRULY. 125 


hide boots and a coon-skin cap tied down over his ears. 
She was the only girl he was afraid of, and he wasn’t 
afraid of her, come right down to it. 

He was an honest, decent chap, with a fist like a 
sledge-hammer and a heart like a child’s. He wanted 
Amazin Grace, and he couldn’t imagine any reason why 
he should not have her. When he got her simple little 
letter of refusal, written out with infinite difficulty, and 
spelled on a new plan of phonetic, he read it over and 
over, smoked his cob-pipe, read the letter again, grinned 
a good bit, then folded it reverently and put it in the 
pocket nearest his heart. 

“That’s all rite, my girl,” he chuckled. 

A couple of months passed away. One peculiarity 


of time is that it treats all people alike. It does not 


fly from some and stand still for others. It was spring 
at the Van Vleet farm, which was one mass of cherry 
and apple-blossoms, and it was spring at the Widow 
Pilsbury’s little lean-to house, without shrub or blossom. 
The. widow looked out of the window and sighed. She 
had never heard the “Song of the Shirt,’ but she had 
sung it all her life. It was her bread and butter. 

“There’s Van Vleet!” she exclaimed, tooking up 
from her lapboard. “ Well, I declare! What brings 
him here ?” 

“ P’raps he’s comin’ to ask yew to hev him, mother,” 
said Amazin Grace, laughing, while a sweet flush of 
pink stained her round cheeks. 

“JT wish he would,” said the widow, Soyeuily - el 


‘should consider it was flyin’ in the face of Providence 


not to marry such a man—if he asked me.” 


But Mir Van Vicet stalked in with’ a bricf “sod: 


- day,” threw an armful of blossoms in the lap of Amazin 


Grace, and said: 


126 YOURS, “TRULY. 


“T’m ready for a weddin’.” 


“Did you get my letter?” asked the girl. 

“Yep! It warn’t, to say, lovin’, but I took your 
meanin’. I’ve fenced in the hull north lot, and for. 
bushed the house up, so yer wouldn’t know it, and kal- 
culate ef we kin git married next week, it won't inter- 
fere with my spring work—hey ?” 

Amazin Grace sat back and looked the picture of 
surprise. The widow thought she heard the cat in the 
pantry and discreetly withdrew. As the door closed 
Farmer Van Vleet took two little red hands in_ his, 
and, bending forward, gave Amazin Grace an awful 
smack. 

“That seals the bargain,” he said, but the indignant 
girl jumped up and ordered him out of the house. To 
her astonishment he didn’t budge a step. 

“Not much! I reckin [ve a right to kiss yer now,” 
he said, boldly; then he stepped to the door and called 
loudly : 

“ Mother! kum here !” . 

The widow must have been conveniently near, for she 
almost fell into the room at his first word, and he be- 
stowed time sounding smack on her. 

“Tt’s jall rite,’ he said, “me an’ Amazin Grace is 
goin’ to be married, and you kin dance at the weddin’.” 

“ But—but the letter,’ gasped the girl. “ You aint 
understood a word of it.” 4 

“The fact is,” said Farmer Van Vleet, “I aint had — 
no eddication to speak of; been too busy grubbin’ land ~ 
all my life. I didn’t raly read the letter to sense, but — 
when I see how you signed it that was enuff for me. I 
knowed you wouldn’t hev writ that way to a feller ye 
wern’t goin’ to marry. I don’t know much about gals, — 
Sut I know that.” | 


J 
x: 
. 4 


YOURS, TRULY. - 127 


When it was all settled that they were to be married 
the next week, Sunday, Farmer Van Vleet rode off, and 
the women put away the lap-robe and resigned the uni- 
versal shirt-making forever. 

“Td give the world to know what I writ to him,” 
said Amazin Grace. 

“The world aint yourn tew give,” corrected her 
mother, piously. 

“Tm sartin sure I told him no,” said the girl, “ but I 
reckon he was bound to hev me, an’ I dunno ez I’m half 
sorry, either, now.” 

When they were married and Amazin Grace and her 
mother had gone out to the new home in the smart new 
spring-wagon, the bride returned to the subject of the 
letter. 

“T hev a burnin’ cur’osity to know what I writ,” she 
said, “causs (blushing prettily) I thought I riffused you.” 

“O ho! I guess not,” said the triumphant lover. 
“ Look a-here, Mrs. Van Vleet, here’s the letter. “Taint 
but a few words. There aint no ’ticular meanin’ in 
them, but it’s the signing of them. Do you see that? 
Them two words would stand in law to mean plain yes; 
there’s no gittin’ round them !” 

Amazin Grace and her mother both read at once: 


“Mr. Van Vleet: 
“deer sir—I am sorry to Inform you that your attenshuns are 
in nowise Eeouperkated, 
“ Yures trewly, 
“ AMAZIN GRACE PILSBURY.” 


“ That fetched me,” said Mr. Van Vleet, looking ad- 
miringly at his new possession. “I doan’t know much, 
but I kin tell what a girl means when she writes to a 
feller and signs herself ‘ Yures trewly.’” 


- - 


128 


CABIN LOVE-SONG. 


ie 
CABIN LOVE-SONG. 


H, listen to me, darkies, 
I'll tell you a little story: 
’Tis all about my true love, 
De Flat Creek mornin’-glory ; 
She’s as nice as any jew-drap 
- Inside de open flower; 
She sof’er dan de moonshine, 
An’ I lubs her eb’ry hour! 


Cuorus.—Mag is a sunflower, 
Mag is a daisy ; 
Mag is de very gal 
To run a darkey crazy! 


Her head is like de full moon, 
Her lips is sweet as a cherry ; 

Her furrud’s smoov as a lookin’-glassg, 
An’ slick as a huckleberry; 

Her face is like a picter, 
Her teef is white an’ pearly: 

Her eye is bright as a lightnin’-bug, 
An’ her ha’r is ’mazin’ curly! 


I like to chop de ’backer patch 
Wid Mag right close behind me; 
I’d like to be a ’backer-wum 
Ef Mag would only find me; 
I'd like to be a flock o’ sheep 
Ef Mag would dribe me ’bout; 
Id like to be a ’tater-slip 
Ef Mag would set me out} 


UNCLE PETE AND MARSE GEORGE. 129 


I seed her for de fus’ time 
In thinnin’ out de corn; 

She made my feelin’s flutterate, 
An’ now my heart is gone; 
Oh, I lubs her like de mischuf, 
I’s bound to tell her soon, 
An’ I'll cote her at de shuckin’ 
On de changin’ ob de moon! 


J. A. Macon. 


UNCLE PETE AND MARSE GEORGE. 


E sat in musing mood on the top rail of a worm 
fence, and gazed wistfully across a forty-acre field 
toward the double log cabin of a Missouri landed pro- 
prietor. Peace and good-will to all were written in 
every feature of his ebony countenance. A few gray 
hairs were visible in his beard and wool, ant as he got 
down off the fence and started across the halfplowed 
stubble field toward the mansion at which he had been 
gazing, a limp was noticeable in his left leg, the knee of 
which bowed outward somewhat. 

This venerable colored man was known in the neigh- 
borhood as “ Uncle Pete.” As he neared the double 
eabin he halted, shaded his eyes with his hand, and, 
after gazing a moment, muttered : 

“Yes, dar he is, dar is Marse Gusta a-sittin’ on de 
poarch a-readin’ his papah. I coch um at home!” 

“ Marse George,’ said Uncle Peter, a few minutes 
later, as he hobbled into the veranda, seated himself on 
a bench, and decorously adjusted his old worn hat over 
the giaring patches on the knees of the trousers, “ Marae 

9 


130 UNCLE PETE AND MARSE GEORGE. 


George, l’se come to see you once mo’, once mo’, befo’ 
I leabes you fo’ebber. Marse George, I’se gwine to de 
odder shoah ; I’se far on de way to my long home, to 
dat home ober acrost de ribber, whar de wicked hab 
no mo’ trouble and whar water millions ripen all de 
yeah ! 

“Youns has all bin bery kine to me heah, Marse 
George, berry kine to de ole man, but I’se gwine away 
acrost de dark ribber. I’se gwine ober, an’ dar on dat 
odder shoah [ll stan’ an’ pick on de golden hawp among 
de angels an’ inde company of de blest. Dar Ill fine 
my rest; dar [ll stan’ befo’ de throne fo’ebber mo’ 
a-singin’ an’ a-shoutin’ susannis to de Lord !” 

“Oh!no, Uncle Pete, you’re all right yet—you’re 
good for another twenty years.” 

“ Berry kine o’ you to say dat, Marse George—berry 
kine—but it’s no use. It almos’ breaks my heart to leab 
you an’ to leab de missus an’ de chillun, Marse George, 
but T’se got my call—l’se all gone inside.” 

“Don’t talk so, Uncle Pete; you are still quite a hale 
old man.” 

“No use talkin’, Marse George, I’se gwine to hebben 
berry soon. ’Pears like I can heah de singin’ on de 
odder shoah. ’Pears like I can heah de voice ob Aunt 
Liza an’ de odders dat’s gone befoah. You’se bin berry 
kine to me, Marse George—de missus an’ de chillun’s 
bin berry good—seems like all de people’s bin berry — 
good to poor ole Pete—poor creetur like me.” 

“Nonsense, Uncle Pete (kindly and encouragingly), 
nonsense, you are good for many years yet. You'll see 
the sod placed on the graves of many younger men than 
you are before they dig the hole for you. What you 
want just now, Uncle Pete, is a good square meal. Go 


UNCLE PETE AND MARSE GEORGE, 131 


‘nto the kitchen and help yourself—fill up inside. There 
is no one at home, but I think you know the road. 
Plenty of cold victuals of all kinds in there.” 

“°Bleeged t’ye, Marse George, ’bleeged t’ye, sah, I'll 
go! For de little time I has got to stay, Dll not go 
agin natur’; but it’s no use. I’se all gone inside—I’se 
got my call. I’m one o’ dem dat’s on de way to de 
golden shoah.” 

Old Pete’s limp was Havdiy noticeable as he departed 
for the depository of eatables, and a saintly smile illum- 
inated his wrinkled face. 

Left alone, the planter was soon absorbed in his paper, 
and he noted the long absence of Uncle Pete. At last, 
however, he was aroused by hearing the old man’s voice 
as he merrily caroled as follows: 


“ Jay bird, jay bird, sittin’ on a limb, 
He winked at me, an’ I at him; 
Cocked my gun and split his shin, 
An’ left the arrow a-stickin’ in.” 


“Zounds!” cried the planter, “if that old thef hasn't 
found my bitters bottle! Pete! Pete, you rascal |” 


“Snake bake a hoecake, 
An’ set the frog to mind it; 
But the frog he fell asleep, 
An’ de lizard came an’ find it.” 


“Pete, you rascal, come out of that,’ ened the 


planter. 
Pete heard not, for he was dancing a gentle shuffle 


and singing: 


132 CULTURED DAUGHTER OF A PLAIN GROCAR, 


“De debble catch de groun’ hog 
A-sittin’ in de sun, 

An’ kick him off de back-log 
Jes’ to see de fun.” 


“You Pete! Blast the nigger!” cried the now thor 
oughly aroused planter, throwing down his paper, and 
rushing to the scene of this unseemly hilarity. 

Unconscious of the approach, or of his presence in 
the world, Pete sang: - 


“ De weasel went tosee de pole-cat’s wife, 
You nebber smelt such a row in yer— 


“Pete!” broke in the irate Missourian, ‘“ Pete, you 
old rascal, is that the way you are crossing the river? 
Are those the songs they sing on the golden shore? Is 
this the way fora man to act when he has got his call— 
when he is all gone inside ?” 

Old Pete, looking very much as he would had he 
been caught in a hen-roost, at last found courage to say: 
“ Marse George, I’se got de call, sure, an' I’se gwine 
acrost de dark ribber soon, but D’se now braced up a 
little on de inside, an’ de ’scursion am postponed— 
‘scursion am postponed, sah !” ANON. 


YHE CULTURED DAUGHTER OF A PLAIN. 
GROCER. 


N September last the daughter of a Towsontown 
man, who had grown comfortably well-off in the 
grocery business, was sent away to a female college, and 
last week arrived home for a vacation as her health 


CULTURED DAUGHTER OF A PUAIN GROCER. 133 


was not good at school. The father was in attendance 
at the depot when the train arrived, with the old 
_ horse in a delivery wagon, to convey his daughter and 
_ her trunks to the house. When the train had stopped, 
a bewitching array of dry goods and a wide-brimmed 

hat dashed from the car and flung itself into the elderly 
| party’ $s arms. 

“Why, you superlative pa!” she exclaimed, “I’m so 
utterly glad to see you.” | 

The old gentleman was somewhat unnerved by the 
greeting, but he recognized the sealskin cloak in his 
grip as the identical piece of property he had paid for 
_ with the bay mare, and he sort of embraced it in his 
arms and planted a kiss where it would do most good, 
with a report that sounded above the noise of the depot, 
In a brief space of time the trunk and its accompany- 
ing baggage were loaded in the wagon, which was soon 
bumping over the road toward home. 

“Pa, dear,” said the young miss, surveying the team 
with a critical eye, “do you ay this quite exces- 
sively beyond ?” 

_“ Hey ?” returned the old man, with a puzzled air 5 
“quite excessively beyond what ?—beyond Wavedes 
I consider it somewhat about a mile beyond Waverly. 
countin’ from the toll-gate, if that’s what you mean ?” 

“Oh! no, pa; you don’t understand me,” the daughter 
explained; “I mean this horse and wagon. Do you . 
think they are soulful? do you think they could be 
studied apart in the light of a symphony, or even a 
simple poem, and appear as intensely utter to one on 
returning home as one could wish ?” 

The father twisted uneasily in his seat, and muttered 
-gomething about he believed it used to be used for an 


134 CULTURED DAUGHTER OF A PLAIN GROCER. 


express wagon before he bought it to deliver pork in, 
but the conversation appeared to be traveling in such 
a lonesome direction that he fetched the horse a re- 
sounding crack on the rotunda, and the severe jolting 
over the ground prevented further remarks. 

“Oh! there is that lovely and consummated ma!” 
screamed the returning collegiatess, as they drove up at 
the door, and presently she was lost in the embrace 
of a motherly woman in spectacles. 

“ Well, Maria,” said the old man at the supper-table, 
as he nipped a piece of butter off the lump with his 
own knife, “and how d’ye like your school ?” 3 

“Well, there, pa, now you’re shou—I mean, I con- 
sider it far too beyond,” replied the daughter. “It is 
unquenchably ineffable. The girls are so sumptuously 
stunning—I mean grand—so exquisite—so intense. 
And then the parties, the balls, the rides—oh! the past 
weeks have been one sublime harmony.” 

“IT s’pose so—I s’pose so,” nervously assented the old 
gentleman, as he reached for his third cup, “ half full—. 
but how about your books ?—readin’, writin’, grammar, 
rule o’ three—how about them ?” 

“Pa, don’t,’ exclaimed the daughter, reproachfully ; 
“the rule of three! grammar! it is French, and music, 
aud painting, and the divine in art, that have made my 
school life the boss—I mean rendered it one unbroken 
flow of rhythmatic bliss—incomparably and exquisitely 
all but.” 

The groceryman and his wife looked helplessly at each 
ether across the table. After a lonesome pause the ola 
Jady said: 

“How do you like the biscuits, Mary ?” 

“They are too utter for anything,” gushed the young 


BEN SCHNEIDER ON PROHIBITION. 135 


lady, “and this plum preserve is simply a poem in it- 


— 6gelfi”” 


The old gentleman abruptly arose from the table and 
went out of the room, rubbing his head in a dazed 
manner, and the mass convention was dissolved. That 
night he and his wife sat alone by the stove until a late 
hour, and at the breakfast table next morning he 
rapped smartly on his plate with the handle of his knife, 
and remarked: ; 

“Maria, me an’ your mother have been talkin’ the 
thing over, an’ we’ve come to the conclusion that this 
boardin’-school business is too utterly all but too much 
nonsense. Me an’ her considered that we haven’t lived 
forty odd consummate years for the purpose of raisin’ a 
curiosity, an’ there’s guin’ to be a stop put to this un- 
quenchable foolishness. Now, after you have finished 
eatin’ that poem of fried sausage, and that symphony of 
twisted doughnut, you take an’ dust upstairs in less’n 
two seconds, an’ peel that fancy gown an’ put on a calli- 
ker, an’ then come down and help your mother wash 
dishes. I want it distinctly understood that there aint 
goin’ to be no more rhythmic foolishness in this house so 
long’s your superlative pa an’ your lovely an’ consum- 
mate ma’s runnin’ the ranch. You hear me, Maria?” 

Maria was listening. 


WHY BEN SCHNEIDER DECIDES FOR PRO- 
HIBITION. 


OU schust vants me to dells you apout it, does you? 
Vell, it von’t dake me long, and mine schtory is 
drue, 


136 BEN SCHNEIDER ON PROHIBITION. 


Dot vee poy, schtanding oop, mit his head on te ground, 

Ish mine leetle poy Fritz; dare’s no prighter poy round, 

And, sir, somedimes I dinks dot ven grown oop is he, 

Schust so schmart like his fadder dot youngster vill be. 

Vell, von day in te garden ven trinking mine peer, 

Dot poy, Fritz, he comes oop and sez he, “ Fadder dear, 

De pright peer look so coot, schust a leetle gif me, 

For I vants him so pad ven I effer him see. 

Do gif me some, von’t you? Iso likes te peer.” 

But I sets down my mug and bretends I no hear; 

And I looks at mine poy, all so pright andso schmart, 

And holds myself shtill, though so fast peats my heart ; 

Den I puts oud mine hand and sez, “ Fritz, coom oop 
here, . 

_ And say how you know dot so coot am te peer.” 

“Vell, mine fadder,” sez he, “ ven I first goes in haste 

For yourn peer, he schlop oud, and a leetle I taste, 

But he taste ferry pad ; den you sends me for more, 

And so pright te peer look dot I taste as pefore. 

And so better he gets, dot I’s glad ven you say, 

. ‘Come, Fritz, and pring fadder his peer for to-day.’ 

Py-and-py, den, I like him so vell as I can, 

And vill trink all te time ven I gets a big man. 

Oh! te peer makes me feel so cholly and gay, 

Dot ven I grows oop I’ll trink all te long day.” 


O sir! ’twas shust awful to hear dot vee lad 

Talking on in dot vay ; oh! it hurt me so pad 

I shust vished dot one eart’quake vould open te ground 

And schwallow me oop, out of sight and of sound. 

Ten, me tinks, I can’t tie, for mine Fritz I must save, 

Or dey’ll find him soom night in a poor trunkard’s 
grave; ° ) 


LAB VEA sabi eat AR A SZ oem Nae CE aay ot Ei STN aera Ne ay 
OL age! Sekt IR rc takin a ie MOURA ae a onl REUTERS dP) Tikse ry , ite elke ane 
. ioe or on Oy », x I (set j 


BEN SCHNEIDER ON PROHIBITION. 137 


_ Or dey’ll scoop him oop out of te gutter soom tay, 
_ And off to te calapoose dake him avay ; 
_ Or, he do soom pad crime, te first ting I know, 


Den pehind iron bars in Schtate’s prison he’ll go. 
If I dells him te peer is not coot for him, ten 


_ He vill say it tastes coot, and it don’t hurt te men. 


If Isay it is vicked to trink, he vill say, 
“ Den, fadder, vot makes you so vicked each day ?” 


_ Tf Tsay he must not te peer trink, den, I know, 


Ven te peer t’irst come on, to dot grog-shop he'll go, 
And dey’ll gif him te trinks for te pennies he’ll schpend. 
Oh! if to dot place I had neffer him send! 

But he know te road easy; for near a two year 


_ He has been effery day to pring me my peer ; 


_ And I tought it so schmart ven he big enuff gits 


To go for te peer. O mine leetle poy Fritz! 


- If neffer I’d sent him, how tankful I’d be! 


But now, how shall I safe him? Oh! whocan tell me? 


' Den, metinks, now I haf it, te Cherman Liepig 
_ Say peer is not coot for mans, leetle or big ; 


But. ven I vanted peer, den I say, He don’t know, 
But now Ill git pooks, and find out it is so, 
And I, den, vill tell Fritz, in te pooks I schust read, 


How dot peer is not coot for anypodies, dey said. 


ed coo 2 


Fadder dinks it is drue, so we'll trink not a dhrop, 


_ And he’ll vant like his fadder to be, so he’ll schtop— 


Den, I tought, dat’s all right, only maybe he'll do 
As his fadder did vonce, von’t pelieve it is drue. 
Den, all te saloons I vished under te ground, 


And noddings of visky or peer could be found. 


Den tere comes to my mind how von man did vonce 
say, 


De saloons would all go if men fote as tey pray, 


138 BEN SCHNEIDER UN PROHIBITION. 


And if effry man his known duty would do, 

And fote prohibition, dot ticket all droo, 

In den years dere vould be no saloons in te land, 

And no blace vere a liquor-shop effer could schtand. | 

Oh! how mad I vas den, but schust now, in some vay, 

It don’t make me so mad ; it sounds coot, and I say 

To Katrina, mine frau, I’s schust going to schtop 

Dis trinking te peer ven I comes from mine schop. 

Den, laughing, she says, schust totry me, I tinks, 

“Vait till Jim cooms along; pretty quick vill you 
trinks.” 

Den “ Xatrina,” says I, “ you spose noddings I care — 

For dot leetle poy Fritz, vot is schumping out dere ?” 

Vell, den, py-and-py dot man Jim, he comes here 

And sez, “Come along, Ben, let us go for some peer.” 

But I dells him I’s going right down to te schtore, 

And as for te peer, I shall trink him no more; 

And he petter not ask me to go in dot vay, 

For von demperance man I vas, now, effry day. 

“ Vot’s dot did you say ?” and he schumps from his chair; 

“You von demperance crank?” den oh! how he schwear ! 

And I dells him, “ Yes dwo cranks, but schust you look 
here, 

I shall dake no more visky, or prandy, or peer.” 

Den he say dot te peer is no hurt, it neffer hurt him, 

Den I say, “ How you got dot plack eye, dell me dot, 
vill you, Jim?” 

Den says he, “ From te cellar vay down to the garret I 
fall, 

And shtuck a knot-hole in mine eye on te vall.” 

Den I dells him, if I always demperance schtay, 

No knot-holes I gets in mine eyes in dot vay. 

Now, I dells you, mine freint, I vas petter man now, 


JIMMIE’S PRAYER. 139 


And I gets in no throubles from any big row; 
_ And Katrina, she say, how much petter I looks, 
And Ihas so much time for te reading coot books, 
And te money I safes makes de home look so neat, 
And Katrina, so schmiling, so happy, and sehweet. 
Ven a man schmokes and trinks he gets noddings to be 
But a parrel on legs and a schmoke-schtack, ye see, 
So I quits the pipe, too, for ’m schure ’tis no schoke, 
In effery man’s face to be puffing te schmoke. 
“T’s a probibition crank, droo and droo, did ye say?” 
Vell, dot crank is a crank you can turn but one way; 
And so schure as Ben Schneider’s my name, I shall try 
To make dis land safe for mine Fritz, py-and-py ; 
For if from te peer I can’t make him to schtay, 
I vill fote for te peer to be out of his vay. 
So von prohibition crank you may effer me call, 
I shall fote to save Fritz, sir, now dot is shust all; 
For a parrel of peer I muscht neffer him see, 
Mit a schmoke-schtack on top, were the prains ought 
to be. 
Vira Hopkins. 


JIMMIE’S PRAYER. 


eee 


EAR DOD, pwease to bwess my mamma, 
Betause she’s so pretty and dood. 
She never stops loving me all the day long, 
Though sometimes I’m naughty end wude. 
But Dod, if you'll dive me a new little heart, 
Tl begin all again—T’ll take a fwesh start. 


146 JIMMIE’S PRAYER. 


Pwease don’t let my papa fordet 
The wagon he promised to bring, 
And I'll kiss him and be des as dood as I tan, 
- And let Nellie have the first swing. 
And I'll twy vewry hard to bwess cousin Ned, 
Though he hurt me so awful right here on my head, 


And bwess my dear Carlo, who keeps 
The naughty bad men all away, 
And Kitty, and all of the dear little chicks 
That ate froo their egg-shells to-day. 
And Ned—but I’m ’fwaid I’m not dood enough yet 
To bwess him—O Dod! it’s so hard to fordet. 


And pwease let the angels send down 
Pretty dweams all froo the long night. 
I don’t like to dweam of ugly black wolves, 
But of flowers and birdies and light ; 
And I fink that whenever my own mamma dear 
Comes to kiss me, the angels are then very near. 


And, Dod, will you make my pinks grow 
A little bit faster than Lute’s ? 
I’m not so bad now, but she bwagged so, that once 
I pulled hers all up by the woots. 
And bwess—but, dear Dod, I’m so sleepy, my head 
Does ache—and to-morrow I’ll pway for poor Ned. 
Boston TRANSCRIPT. 


THE “OLE MARSTER’S” CHRISTMAS. 


» 


THE “OLE MARSTER’S” CHRISTMAS. 


“7 ER axes me what dis heah is, sah ? 
Well hits nuffin’, sah, but jes’er coat— 

Jes’ one ob dese long, gray, ulsty kin’, 

Whar buttons close up on de th’oat. 
I got hit ter fit on er fren’, sah, 

An’ Tse gwine an’ wid my own han’ 
Ter wrap hit eroun’ de bes’ hart, sah, 
_ Dat is beatin’ ter-day in dis lan’! 


“No, taint fer nobody whar’s kin ter me— 

*Cept dis, sah, dat in dem ole days 

’*Fore de wah, an’ ‘fore freedum cum in, sah, 
He wuz den my ‘ Ole Marster’ always. 

He wuz kin’ an’ ez jest ez er judge, sah, 
An’ always done right by us all, 

An’ he nebber forgot w’en ’twuz Christmas 
Ter hab suthin’ in han’ fer us all! 


“ But de wah an’ destruckshin cum on him 
An’ he loss all he had in de lan’, 
An’ feebled, an’ fren’less an’ weak, sah, 
Had ter lib by de wuck ob his han’. 
I tell yer de fite’s bin er hard ’un— 
Dis keepin’ de wolf from de do’, 
An’ off’en he’z sed he’d gib up, sah, 
_.. An’ not try ter fite enny mo’! 


* But I'd brace him up, sorter-like, sayin’, 
‘ Dar’s better times cumin ahead— 
Jes’ keep on er peggin’ and prayin’, 
An’ nebber say die till yer dead !’ 


141 


142 THE ““OLE MARSTER’S” CHRISTMAS, 


An’ so he’d keep tryin’ an’ tryin’, 
But he coodn’t keep up a strong lick, 
An’ at las’ had ter gib up his weepon’, 
An’ lay down like a little chile, sick. 


“ Den we dun de bes’ wuck in de wull’, sah, 
_ Ter bring him ag’in ter hisse’f, 
Ter keep his po’ body awhile heah, 
An’ keep in hit hiz flickerin’ bref; 
But I seed him dis mawin’ so poly, 
So thin an’ so pale, an’ so bar’, 
Dat I jes’ tuck er holt on my hart-strings, 
An’ played ’em fer all dat wuz dar! 


“So [se tuck all de munny I'd laid up 
Fer ter buy me my own Christmus gif’, 
An’ boughten dis coat, good an’ warm, sah, 
Fer ter gib my ‘Ole Marster’ a lif’! 
I know he'll be glad wid de cumfurt 
Hit’ll bring to his weakly ole frame; 
While me ?—I kin skirmish eroun’ heah 
An’ feel happy an’ rich jes’ de same !” 


So went the old man on his mission, 
As happy as ever a king, 
His heart beating holier music 
Than ever a mortal can sing. 
And though others may think that a darkey 
Has never the gift of a soul, 
He’s got something will pass for its equal 
When Heaven shall call its last roll! 
Sam W. SMALL 


DIFFIDENCE. 143 


DIFFIDENCE. 


a | is afther axin’, Biddy, my dear ”— 
4 And here he paused awhile— 

To fringe the words the merest mite, 
With something of asmile— 

A smile that found its image 
In a face of beauteous mold, 

Whose liquid eyes were peeping 
From a broidery of gold. 


“T’ve come to ax ye, Biddy, dear, 

If—” then he stopped again, 

As if his heart had bubbled o’er 
And overflowed his brain ; 

His lips were twitching nervously 
O’er what they had to tell, 

And timed their quivers with the eyes 
That gently rose and fell. 


“T’vye come—” and then he shook her handa, 
And held them in his own— 
“To ax—’ and then he watched the buds 
5 That on her cheeks had blown. 
“Me purty dear—” and then he heard 
The throbbing of her heart, 
That told him love had entered in 
And claimed its every part. 


“Och! don’t be tazin’ me,” said she, 
With just the faintest sigh, 

“I’ve sinse enough to see you’ve come, 
But what’s the rayson why ?”’ 


SW eke a eS ADA 2 hae 
LE TRE) on ana 


44 MOTHER’S DOUGHNUTS. 


“To ax—’ and once again the tongue 
Forbade its sweets to tell— 

“To ax—if Mrs. Mulligan 
Has any pigs to sell ?” 


MOTHER’S DOUGHNUTS. 


EL. DORADO, 1851. 


LT just bin down ter Thompson’s, boys, 
’N feelin’ kind o’ blue, 
I thought I'd look in at “ The Ranch,” 
Ter find out what wuz new ; 
When I seed this sign a-hangin’ 
On a shanty by the lake: 
“ Here’s whar yer gets yer doughnuts 
Like yer mother used ter make.” 


I’ve seen a grizzly show his teeth, 
I’ve seen Kentucky Pete 

Draw out his shooter, ’n advise 
A “tender-foot ” ter treat ; 

But nuthin’ ever tuk me down, 
"N made my benders shake, 

Like that sign about the doughnuts 
That my mother used ter make. 


A sort 0’ mist shut out the ranch, 
”N standin’ thar instead, 

I seen an old, white farm-house, 
With its doors all painted red. 


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MOTHER'S DOUGHNUTS. 145 


A whiff came through the open door— 
Wuz I sleepin’ or awake? 

The smell wuz that of doughnuts 
Like my mother used ter make. 


The bees wuz hummin’ round the porch, 
Whar honeysuckles grew ; 
A yellow dish of apple-sass 
Wuz settin’ thar in view. 
’N on the table, by the stove, 
An old-time “ Johnny-cake,” 
’N a platter full of doughnuts 
Like my mother used ter make. 


A patient form I seemed ter see, 
In tidy dress of black, 

I almost thought I heard the words, 
“ When will my boy come back ?” 

’"N then—the old sign creaked : 

- But now it was the boss who spake: 
_ “ Here’s whar yer gets yer doughnuts 

Like yer mother used ter make.” 


Well, boys, that kind o’ broke me up, 
’"N ez I’ve “struck pay gravel,” 
I ruther think V’ll ae my kit, 
Vamose the ranch, ’n travel. 
I'll make the old folks ae 
’N if I don’t mistake, 
I'll try some o’ them doughnuts 
Like my mother used ter make. 
x CHARLES F. Apams. 


10 


ja THE WAKE OF TIM OHARA. 


THE WAKE OF TIM O'HARA. 


O the wake of O’Hara 
Came companie ; 
All St. Patrick’s Alley 
Was there to see, 
With the friends and kinsmen 
Of the family. 
On the old deal table Tim lay in white, 
And at his pillow the burning light ; 
While, pale as himself, with the tear on her cheek, 
The mother received us—too full to speak. 
But she heap’d the fire, and, with never a word, 
Set the black bottle upon the board, 
While the company gathered, one and all, 
Men and women, big and small— 
Not one in the alley but felt a call 
To the wake of Tim O’ Hara. 


At the face of O’Hara, 
All white with sleep, 
Not one of the women 
But took a peep, 
And the wives new wedded 
Began to weep. 
The mothers clustered around about, 
And praised the linen and laying out, 
For white as snow was his winding-sheet, 
And all looked peaceful, and clean, and sweet ; 
The old wives, praising the blessed dead, 
Clustered thick round the old press-bed, 
Where O’Hara’s widow, tattered and torn, 


THE WAKE OF TIM OHARA. 


Held to her bosom the babe new-born, 
And stared all round her, with eyes forlorn, 
At the wake of Tim O’Hara. 


For the heart of O’ Hara 
Was true as gold, 
And the life of O’Hara 
Was bright and bold, 
And his smile was precious 
To young and old. 
Gay as a guinea, wet or dry, 
With a smiling mouth and a twinkling eye! 
Had ever an answer for chaff or fun, 
Would fight like a lion with any one! 
Not a neighbor of any trade 
But knew some joke that the boy had made! 
Not a neighbor, dull or bright, 
But minded something, frolic or fight, 
And whispered it round the fire that night, 
At the wake of Tim O’Hara. 


“To God be glory 
In death and life! 
He’s taken O’ Hara 
From troubie and strife,” 
Said one-eyed Biddy, 
The apple-wife. 
“God bless old Ireland!” said Mistress Hart, 
Mother of Mike, of the donkey-cart: 
“ God bless old Ireland till all be done! 
She never made wake for a better son!” 
And all joined chorus, and each one said 
Something kind of the boy that was dead. 


143 


THE WAKE OF TIM O'HARA. 


The bottle went round from lip to lip, 

And the weeping widow, for fellowship, 

Took the glass of old Biddy, and had a sip, 
At the wake of Tim O’Hara. 


Then we drank to O’Hara 
With drams to the brim, 
While the face of O’Hara 
Looked on so grim, 
In the corpse-light shining 
Yellow and dim. 
The drink went round again and again; 
The talk grew louder at every drain ; 
Louder the tongues of the women grew, 
The tongues of the boys were loosing too! © 
But the widow her weary eyelids closed, 
And, soothed by the drop of drink, she dozed; 
The mother brightened and laughed to hear 
Of O’Hara’s fight with the grenadier, 
And the hearts of us all took better cheer, 
At the wake of Tim O’Hara, 


Tho’ the face of O’ Hara 
Looked on so wan, 
In the chimney corner | 
The row began ; 
Lame Tony was in it, 
The oyster-man. 
For a dirty low thief from the North came near 
And whistled ‘“ Boyne Water” in his ear, 
And Tony, with never a word of grace, 
Hit out his fist in the blackguard’s face. 
Then all the women screamed out for fright; 


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GRANDFATHER'S ROSE. 148 


The men that were drunkest began to fight; 
Over the chairs and the tables they threw; 
The corpse-light tumbled, the trouble grew; 
The new-born joined in the hullabaloo, 

At the wake of Tim O’ Hara. 


“ Be still! Be silent! 
Ye do a'sin! 
Shame be his portion 
Who dares begin !” 
"Twas Father O’Connor 
Just entered in; 
And all looked shamed, and the row was done; 
Sorry and sheepish looked every one; 
But the priest just smiled quite easy and free— | 
«Would you wake the poor boy from his sleep?” said he 
And he said a prayer, with a shining face, 
Till a kind of a brightness filled the place; 
The women lit up the dim corpse-light, 
The men were quieter at the sight ; 


_ And the peace of the Lord fell on all that night, 


At the wake of Tim O’Hara. 
Rospert BucHANAN, 


GRANDFATHER’S ROSE. 


OES yo’ see dem yaller roses clingin’ to de cabin 
wall, | 
Whar de bright sunshine twinkle all de day? 
I’s got a yaller rose dat’s sweeter dan dem all, 
An’ I’s gwine to gib my yaller rose away— 


150 GRANDFATHER’S ROSE. 


Dat pesky dandy Jim, wid his button-hole bouquet, 
He knows I’s gwine to gib my rose, my yaller rose, 
away. 


O my yaller rose! it growed close to de cabin flo’, 
And its mammy lef’ it ’fore it ’gun to climb, 

But it run kind o’ wild in an’ out de cottage do’, 
Aw’ it got roun’ de ole man ebery time— 

T’s mighty loth to do it, but I hasn’t long to stay— 

So I’s gwine to gib my wild rose, my yaller rose, away. 


Now, dandy Jim’s de parson’s son—dey growed up side 
by side, 
My yaller rose an’ dat ar harnsome boy, 
Sense she’s a leetle creepsy ting, dat Jim has been her 
pride ; 
But now an’ den she grows a little coy— 
But I spec’s it’s cause I tole her—’twas on’y t’other 
day— 
Dat Jim had got his cabin done, an’ I was gwine away. 


She put dem little han’s in mine, her head upon my 
breas’, 
An’ dar she seemed to sort 0’ sob an’ sigh. 
I couldn’t tell de matter, but it wasn’t hard to guess 
Dat she moaning ’cause de ole man gwine to die; 
So I coax my pretty wild rose with kisses, and I say, 
“De ole man gwine to lib, perhaps, dese many an 
many a day.” 


O boys! I didn’t hab a t’ought dat bressed nead 
| would lay 
On any oder breas’ but Jim’s an’ mine; 

I t’ought dat I could hold her, to keep or gib away, 
But she gone to make some oder garding shine: 


te 


AN EXAMINATION IN HISTORY. 152 


Her ma got tired o’ waitin’, maybe, lonesome, so to say, 
So she axed de King ob de garding to take my rose 
away. 


Dear lamb! she sleeping sof’ly, widout a tear or sigh, 
Wid de wild flowers on her little cabin bed, 
An’ we’s a-settin’ side ob her, poor dandy Jim an’ I, 
An’ a-wailin’ an’ a-wishin’ we was dead. 
I'd a-g’in my life for her an’ Jim, why couldn’t He let 
her stay ?- 
Ts old an’ withered, de Marster howe, but He took my 
rose away. 


T’s berry lonesome, an’ so is Jim—he’s often ober, now, 
An’ dem honeysuckle faded long ago ; 
When de sun shines in de cabin, or it’s time to milk de 
cow, . 
I kin seem to hear her foot upon de flo’ ; 
© my wild rose! my yaller rose! it’s mighty hard to 
stay ; 
It seems as if de Lord forgit when He took my rose 
away. 3 
Mary A. DENIson. 


AN EXAMINATION IN HISTORY. 


OU say,” I remarked to the old negro who drove 
the hack, “ that you were General Washington’s 
body servant ?” 
“TDat’s so! Dat’s jus’ so, massa. I done waited on 
Washington since he was so high—no bigger’s a small 
chile.” 


152 TOMMY’S TWIALS. 


“You know the story, then, about the cherry-tree 
and hatchet.” 

“Know it? Why, I was dar on de spot. I seen 
Massa Gawge climb de tree after de cherries, and I seen 
him filing de hatchet at de boys who was stonin’ him. I 
done chase dem boys off de place myself.” 

“Do you remember his appearance as a man—what 
he looked like ?” 

“Yes, indeed. He wasa kinder short, chunky man, 
sorter fat and hearty-lookin’. He had chin whiskers 
and moustache and spectacles. Mos’ generally wore a 
high hat; but I seed him ina fur cap wid ear warmers.” 

“ You were not with him, of course, when he crossed the 
Delaware—when he went across the Delaware River ?” 

“Wid him? Yes, sar, I was right dar; I was not 
mor’n two feet off’n him as he druv across de bridge in 
his buggy. Dat’s a fac’. I walked ‘long side of the off 
hand hind wheel of dat. buggy all de way.” 

“ You know all the General’s relations, too, I suppose? 
—Martin Luther, and Peter the Hermit and the rest ?” 


“Know’d ’em all. Many and many’s de time I don — 


waited on de table when Massa Gawge had *em to dinner, 
I remember dem two gemmen jes’s well’s if I'd seed 


um yesterday. Yes, sah; an’ I druv ’em out often.” ~ 


ANON. 


TOMMY’S TWIALS. 


FINT ’at ’is worl’ is too bad for nuffin’, 
An’ lickle fotes dust dits aboosed ! 
For dust ev’ry day I dits hurt wiv suffin’, 
An’ bid fotes ’ey dust loots amoosed ! 


“ BOOK LARNIN’.” 153 


My mamma s’e says I has a bad temper, 
S’e fints at I dot it from pa! 

My papa he laughs an’ says it’s twite likely, 
As none has been lost by my ma! 


To bid fotes like 00 I s’pose it loots funny 
When the babies ’ey chote up an’ toff, 

But Vd lite to see if oo would n’t hollor 
If oo’d burned oor mouf a’most off! 


It’s all velly well to twy to play sorwy, 
And say “ poor, dear darlin’, don’t ky !” 

Oo fint ’at we child’ens don’t has any twoubles, 
I know by ’e loot in oor eye! 


I wiss dust a minute ’at oo was a baby, 
I don’t fint oo’d laugh so muts ’en ; 
Oo’d say lickle fotes has offul bid twials 
"At never was dweamed of by men. 


“BOOK LARNIN’.” 


OOK larnin’ is a daisy thing for the chap what’s got 
the brains . 
An’ common sense to know it, but it isn’t worth the 
pains 
An’ chink an’ time it takes to get it, if a man don’t 
know the way 
To keep it in its proper place, an’ use it where it’ll pay. 


_My brother had a youngster as wuz allus goin’ to 
school ; 


154 “BOOK LARNIN’.” 

He went clear through the college an’ come out a regu: 
lar fool. 

He could reel off furin’ languages an’ talk uv lands an’ 
law, 

But when it come to workin’ he wuzn’t worth a straw. 


He got an idy in his hed that work was a disgrace ; 

The law, he sed, was his perfes,so he ups an’ gets a 
place 

In a city lawyer’s office, an’ began his legal course, 

That landed him in Jes one year within his father’s 
doors. 


He’s livin’ with his father now, and the time an’ money 


spent 

Fer to git his education hasn’t panned out worth a 
cent. 

It was castin’ on the waters bread that’s never yet re- 
turned, 


For there’s nary a single blessin’ come from all that 
stuff he learned. 


But not a spec of larnin’ had his younger brother, Bill, 

‘Cept a term or so one winter at the school-house on the 
hill ; 

An’ he’s worth about a dozen of his wuthless brother’s 
make, 

Fer he’s jest chuck full of common sense, an’ that’s 
what takes the cake. 

Now ef Bill hed had the larnin’ as wuz in his brother’s — 
pate, 

He’d been a man uv power—maybe Guvner of the 
State. 


WAVE ES. Oe ag 


SIMON’S WIFE’S MOTHER LAY SICK OF A FEVER. 153 


But in spite uv all his ignorance he made a good success, 
An’ he’s got the finest farm in all the county, too, 1 
guess. 


My idy is that ef a boy haint got no common sense, 
An’ only ’nuff git up about him fer to set. round on the 
| fence, 
It aint no use to send him off to take a college course, 
Fer it jest can’t make him better, an’ it’s bound to 
make him worse, 


M. H. Turk. 


SIMON’S WIFE’S MOTHER LAY SICK OF A 
FEVER. 


ELL, von morning I says to Hans (Hans vos mein 
husband):—“ Hans, I tinks I goes down to New 
York, und see some sights in dot village.” 

Und Hans he say: “Vell, Katrina, you vork hard 
pooty mooch, I tinks it vould petter be dot you goes 
und rest yourself some.” So I gets meinself ready righd 
avay quick, und in two days I vos de shteam cars on 
 vistling avay for New York. 

Vell, ven I got dere, dot vas Saturday mit de after- 
noon. I vas tired mit dot day’s travel und I goes 
me pooty quick to bed, und ven I vakes in de morn- 
ing de sun was high oup in de shky. But I gets 
me oup und puts on mein new silk vrock und tinks me 
I shall go to some fine churches und hear ein grosse 
breacher. Der pells vas ringing so schveet I dinks J 
nefer pefore hear such music. Ven I got de shtreet on 
‘de beobles vos all going quiet und nice to dere blaces 


156 SIMON’S WIFE’S MOTHER LAY SICK OF A FEVER. 


mit vurship, und I makes oup my mind to go in von 
of dem churches so soon as von comes along. Pooty 
soon I comes to de von mit ein shteeples high oup in de 
shky und I goes in mit de beoples und sits me down on 
ein seat all covered mit a little mattress. De big organ 
vas blaying so soft it seemed likes as if some angels 
must be dere to make dot music. 

Pooty soon de breacher man shtood in de bulbit oup 
und read de hymn oudt, und all de beoples sing, until 
de church vos filled mit de shveetness. Den de breacher 
man pray, und read de Pible, und den he say dot de 
bulbit would be occupied by de Rev. Villiam R. Shtover 
mit Leavenworth, Kansas. 

Den dot man gommences to breach und he read mit 


his dext, “ Und Simon’s vife’s mudder lay sick mit a 


fever.” He talks for so movch as ein half hour already 


ven de beobles sings again und goes home. I tells mein 


brudder-mit-law it vos so nice I tinks me I goes again 
mit some oder churches. So vot you tinks? I goes mit 


anoder churches dot afternoon und dot same Villiam R. 
Shtover vos dere und breach dot same sermon ofer 


again mit dot same dext, ‘Und Simon’s vife’s mudder 


lay sick mit a fever.” I tinks to my ownself—dot vos 


too bad, und I goes home und dells Yawcup, und he 
says, “ Nefer mind, Katrina, to-night ve goes somevhere 
else to churches.” So ven de night vas come und de 
lamps vos all lighted mit de shtreets, me und mein 
brudder-mit-law, ve goes over to dot Brooklyn town to” 
hear dot Heinrich Vard Peecher. 

My, but dot vos ein grosse church, and so many 
beobles vas dere, ve vas crowded mit de vall back. Ven 
de singing vas all done, a man vot vas sitting mit a 


leetle chair got oup und say dot de Rev. Heinrich Vard- 
. a 


SABLE THEOLOGY. 157 


Peecher vas to de Vite Mountains gone mit dot hay 
fever, but dot the bulbit vould be occupied on this occa- 
sion by de Rev. Villiam R. Shtover mit Leavenworth, 
Kansas. Und dot Villiam R. Shtover he gots mit dot 
bulbits oup und breaches dot same sermon mit dot same 
text, “ Und Simon’s vife’s mudder lay sick mit a fever.” 

Dot vos too bad again und I gets mad. I vos so mad 
I vis dot he got dot fever himself. 

Vell, ven dot man vas troo Yawcup says to me! 
“Come, Katrina, ve’ll go down to dot ferry und take 
de boat vot goes to New York!” Ven ve vas on dot 
boat de fog vas so tick dot you couldn’t see your hands 
pehind your pack. De vistles vas plowing, und dem 
bells vos ringing, und von man shtepped up mit Yawcup 
und say: “ Vot vor dem pells pe ringing so mooch ?” 

Und ven I looked around dere shtood dot Villiam 
R. Shtover mit Leavenworth, Kansas—und I said pooty 
quick: “ Vot vor dem pells vas ringing? Vy, for 
Simon’s vife’s mudder, vot must de died, for I hear dree 
times to-day already dot she vos sick mit ein fever.” 


SABLE THEOLOGY. 


SE gwine dis ebenin’ fo’ ter preach ob dose infernai 
vandals 

What gits dar pleasure by dar tongues, a-circulatin 

scandals. : . 

Ef dar’s a mixture anywhar ob giddy goose an’ gandah, 

‘It am dat low-down culled coon what poisons us wiv 
-glandah ; 

A-pokin’ out his forky tongue in eberybody’s faces, 
And settin’ all de married folks ter kickin’ in de traces. 


158 SABLE THEOLOGY. 


De debbil nebah want a tool while sech pooah trash am 
libin’ ; 

Dey’s allus creepin’ fru de streets a-fussin’ and a-fibbin’; 

"Bout everybody dat dey kin, dar busy tongue’s 
a-wagegin’, 

A-puttin’ neighbahs by de ear, a-bouncin’ and a-brage 
gin’, : 

Till ebery Christian goin’ wild an’ ebery sinnah cussin’; 

Most eberybody’s teeth on edge an’ ebery fool a-fussin’, 


Dar’s some ob dem right in dis chu’ch purtend ter serve 
de Mastah, 

An’ actin’ all de week jess like de debbel’s mustard 
plastah 

Ter draw de ugliness an’ sech right out ob each pooah 
sinnah, | 

An’ servin’ little slips an’ sins ter make a gossip’s 
dinnah ; 


No man so pious or so pooah but what dar pryiw 


reaches, 
Ter suck his repertation dry, jess like a lot ob leeches, 


Dey’s all sech cowards dat it aint no use fur yo’ ter 


battle, 
Yo’ only nasties up yo’self by techin’ such pooah 
cattle ; : 
An’ when yo’ cotch dar slandah foul, dey’ll go fur to 
denyin’, 


A-puttin’ it on some one e’se, a-wrigglin’ an’ a-lyin’, 


Ontil yo’ feels like yo’ war tryin’ ter fix a lot ob lizzarda — 
Wivout one grain of soul or heart, but only gills an’ — 


gizzards 


SABLE THEOLOGY. 159 


Dar lyin’ am an empty sham; a-groanin’ an’ repinin’, 

An’ sickenin’ all de honest folks wiv grimacin’ an’ 
whinin’. | 

Dey’s allus talkin’ ’bout dar wirk, dar doin’s an’ dar duty, 

When dey has nuffin’ wuf de name ob usefulness or 
beauty ; 

No meaner creeters eber libed, a-dodgin’ an’ a-doin’ 

Ter set dar traps fo’ people’s ears an’ run dem inter ruin. 


Dey comes ter meetin’ right along, prays loud an’ holler 


glory, 

Den off dey goes to ’sult de Lord wiv some malicious 
story ; 

A-tellin’ suffin’ *bout some man doin’ what he hadn’t 
oughter, 


Dat Deekin Pubbins stole a duck or kissed ole Grub- 
bins’ daughter ; 

An’ den dey’ll groan an’ wriggle so as tho’ dey hab de 
colic, 

Bekase dey’s so much obercome by some one else’s frolic. 


My fren’s, jess leave sech trash alone; don’t handle 
sech acreachah; 

Yo’ knows dey’s talked long time ’fore now about yo’ 
own deah preachah ; 

Jess stick to what yo’ knows am true—yo’ ’ligion an’ 
yo’ labahs— 

An’ trample or. dese reptile trash what scandalize yo’ 

~ neighbahs. 

Gib ebery man his hones’ due, speak out to ebery 
sinnah, 

But don’t roll scandal on yo’ tongues—it makes a dirty 
dinnah. 


SNES MRRMAS Le CEES UN Rea erie AER psy sea tare rT yea 4 ny eae Eaton eS 


160 THE LIGHT FROM OVER THE RANGE. 


If charity begins at home, dar needn’t be its endin’; 
Don’t pick at ebery little hole, but set yo’selves tea 
mendin’ ; 
Den yo’ will imitate de wirk an’ sperit ob de Saviah, 
An’ stead ob firin’ up a fuss, mend somebody’s behaviah, 
TEDGARJ. 


THE LIGHT FROM OVER THE RANGE. — 


“Do. see it, pard?” 

“See what, Rough ?” 

“The light from over the Range.” 

“Not a bit, Rough. ae: not daybreak Mel Yer sick, | 
an’ yer head horses ye.’ 

“ Pard, yer off. T’ve been sick, but ?’m well again. 
It’s not dark like it was. The bent sa comin’—comin’ 
like the boyhood days that crep’ inter the winders of 
the old home.” 

“Ye’ve been dreamin’, Rough. The fever haint aD 
outen your head yet.” : 
“Dreamin’? *Twant all dreams. It’s the light 

comin’, pard, I see ’em all plain. Thar’s the ole man 
lookin’ white an’ awful, just as he looked the morning 
he drove me from home; and that woman behind him — 
stretchin’ out her arms ce me is the best mother in 
the world. Don’t you see ’em, pard ?” 

“Yer flighty, Rough. It’s all dark, ’cepting a pine 
knot flickerin’ in the ashes.” 

“No—the light’s a comin’ brighter and brighter} 
Look! It’s beamin’ over the Range bright and gentle, 
like the smile that used to be over me when my head | 
‘aid in my mother’s lap, long ago.” 


THE LIGHT FROM OVER THE RANGE. 16: 


“Hyar’s a little brandy, Rough. Thar; I seen it 
though my eyes are’ dim—somehow—hyar, Rough.” 

“ Never, pard. That stuff spiled the best years of 
my life—it sha’n’t spile my dreams of ’em. Oh! sich 
dreams, pard. They take me to the old home again. I 
see the white house ’mong the trees. I smell the breath 
of the apple-blossoms, an’ hear the birds singin’ an’ the 
bees hummin’ an’ the ole plow songs echoin’ over the 
leetle valley. Isee the river windin’ through the 
willers an’ sycamores, an’ the dear ole hills all around 
pintin’ up to heaven like the spires of big meetin 
houses. Thar’s the ole rock we called the tea-table. I 


climb up on it an’ play a happy boy agin. Oh! if I’d 


only stayed thar, pard.” 
‘Don’t Rough; ye thaw meall out, talkin’ that. It 


= 
- makes me womanish.”’ 


“ That’s it, pard, we’ve kep’ our hearts froze so long 
we want it allus winter. But the summer comes back 


with all the light from over the Range. How bright it 


is, pard. Look! How it floods the cabin till the knots 
an’ cobwebs are plainer than day.” 

_ “Suthin’s wrong, Rough. It’s all dark, ’cept only that 
pine knot in the chimbly.” 

“No, it’s all right, pard. The light’s come over the 
Range. I kin see better’x ever I could. Kin see the 
moisture in yer eyes, pard, an’ see the crooked path ve 
come, runnin’ clean back to my mother’s knee. I wasn’t 
allus called Rough. Somebody used to kiss me an’ call 
me her boy—nobody’ll ever know I’ve kep’ it till the 
ends | ; 

“T hey wanted to ax ye, mate, why ye never had any 
mame but jist Rough ?” 

‘Pard—it’s gettin’ dark—my name? I’ve neves 
13 


{62 THE LIGHT FROM OVER THE RANGE. 


heard it since I left home. I buried it thar in the little 
churchyard, whar mother’s waitin’ for the boy that 
never come back. I can’t tell it, pard—in my kit you'll 
find a package done up. Thar’s two picters in it of two 
faces that’s been hoverin’ over me since I took down. 
You'll find my name thar, pard—thar with hers and 
mother’s.” 

“Hers? Will I ever see her, Rough ?” 

“ Not till you see her by the light that comes from 
over the Range to us all. Pard, it’s gettin’ dark—dark 
and close—darker than it ever seemed to me afore—” 

“Rough, what’s the matter? Speak to me, mate 
Can’t I do nuthin’ fer ye?” 

“Yes—pard. Can’t ye—say—suthin’ ?” 

. ee oop mean, Rough? [ll say anyeinen to 
please ye.” 

“ Say—a—pra’r, pard.” 

“A pra’r? Rough, d’ye mean it ?” 

“Yes, a pra’r, pard. It’s the—last thing Rough’ll 
ever—ax of ye.” 

“It’s hard todo, Rough. I don’t know a pra’r.” 

“Think back, pard. Didn’t yer mother—teach ye— 
suthin’? One that begins—‘ Our Father ’—an’ then 
—somehow—says—‘ forgive us ’—” 

“ Don’t, Rough, ye break me all up—” 

“ The light’s a fadin’—on the golden hills—an’ the— 
night is comin’—out of the canyuns—pard. Be quick 
—ye'll try, pard. Say suthin’—fer Rough.” 

“ T—Rough—Our Father forgive us. Don’t be hard 
on Rough. We’re a tough lot. We've forgot Ye, 
but we haint all bad. ’Cause we haint forgot the old 
home. Forgive us—be—easy on Rough—Thy will be 
done.” 


THE LIGHT FROM OVER THE RANGE. 163 


“ Tt’s comin’ agin—pard. The light’s—comin’—over 
the Range—” 

‘Have mercy on—us, an’—an’—an’—settle with us 
‘cordin to—to the surroundin’s of our lives. Thy— 
Thy kingdom come—” 

“Go on, pard. It’s comin’.” 

“‘ Now—I lay me down to sleep.” 

“ That’s—good—mother said that—” 

“Hallowed be Thy name—pray—the Lord his soul 
to keep.” 

“That’s good—pard. It’s all glory—comin’ over— 
the Range—mother’s face—her—face—’”’ 

“Thine is the glory, we ask—for Jesus’ sake— 
Amen.” 

“ Pard—” 

“What, Rough? I’m all unstrung. I—” 

Mare. 

“Rough! Yer worse! What, dead ?” 

Yes, the wanderings were over. Ended with a prayer, 
rough and sincere, like the heart that had ceased to 
throb—a prayer and a few real tears, even in that lone 


cabin in the canyon; truer than many a death scene 


knows, although a nation does honor to the dying; a 
prayer that pleased Him better than many a prayer. of 
the schools and creeds. A rough but gentle hand closed 
the eyes. The first rays of the morning sun broke 
through a crevice in the little cabin and hung like his 
mother’s smile over the couch of the sleeping boy, 
Only one mourner watched with Rough as he waited 
for the new name which will be given to us all, when 
that light. comes to the world from over the Range. 


— :164 “TEAMSTER JIM.” 


“TEAMSTER JIM.” 


T aint jest the story, parson, to tell ina crowd like 

this, 

Weth the virtuous matron a-frownin’ an’ chidin’ the 
gigglin’ miss, 

An’ the good old deacon a noddin’ in time with his 
patient snores, 

An’ the shocked aleet of the capital, stalkin’ away 
through the doors. 


But then, it’s a story that happened, ¢ an’ every word of 
it’s true, 

An’ sometimes we can’t help talkin’ of the things ‘that 
we sometimes do. 

An’ though good Sle coldly shets its doors onto 
“‘Teamster Jim,’ 

I’m thinkin’ ther’s lots worse people thet’s better known 
than him. 


I mind the day he was married, an’ I danced at the 
weddin’, too ; (- 


An’ I kissed the bride, sweet Maggie—daughter of Ben — 


| McGrew. 

I mind how they set up housekeepin’, two young, poor, 
happy fools ; 

When Jim’s only stock was a eee truck an’ four 
Kaintucky mules. 


Well, they lived along contented, weth their little joys 
an’ cares, | 

An’ every year a baby come, an’ twice they come in 
pairs ; 


——~ > oe. = 


_ “TEAMSTER JIM.” 1623 


Till the house was full of children, weth their shoutin! 
an’ playin’ av’ squalls. _ 

An’ their singin’ an’ laughin’ an’ cryin’ made Bedlam 
within its walls. 


An’ Jim he seemed to like it, an’ he spent all his even: 
in’s at home. 

He said it was full of music an’ light, an’ peace from 
pit to dome. 

T{e joined the church, an’ he used to pray that his heart 
might be kept from sin— 

The stumblin’est prayer—but heads an’ hearts used to 
bow when he’d begin. 


So, they lived along in that way, the same from day to 
day, 

With Le of time for drivin’ work, and a little time 
for play. 

An’ growin’ around ’em the sweetest girls and the live- 
liest, manliest boys, 

Till the old gray heads of the two old folks was og 
with the homeliest joys. 


Eh? Come to my story? Well, that’s all. They’re 
‘ livin’ just like I said, - 

Only two of the girls is married, an’ one of the boys is 
dead. 

An’ they’re honest an’ decent an’ happy, an’ the very 
best Christians, I know, 

Though [ reckon in brilliant compn’y they’d be voted ¢ 
leetle slow. | 


Oh! you’re pressed for time—excuse yout Sure, Pm 
sorry I kept you so long; 


166 THE MUSIC OF THE PAST. 


Good-bye. Now he looked kind o’ bored-like, an’ } 
reckon that 1 was wrong 

To tell such a commonplace story of two sech common: 
place lives, 3 

But we can’t all git drunk an’ gamble an’ fight, an’ run 


off with other men’s wives. 
R. J. BuRDETTE, 


THE MUSIC OF THE PAST. 


ARDLY ever that a body 
Hears the old tunes any more}; 
But a trampin’ fiddler played ’em 
T’other evenin’ at the store. 


An’ the music, as he played it, 
Kind o’ seemed like ev’ry note 

Only kept the lump a-growin’ 
That it started in my throat. 


An’ as I sat a-listenen’ 
To them tunes I used to know, 
All the past riz up before me 
Like a magic-lantern show. 


Thirty years or more was taken 
From the tally-sheet o’ life ; 

Thirty years o’ work an’ worry, 
Disa’pintment, care, and strife. 


An’ a voice that now is silent 
Promised me in lovin’ tone, 
An’ a hand that now is pulseleag 

Lay contented in my own. 


SCHNEIDER'S TOMATOES. 167 


While the faces that hev vanished, 
An’ the feet that now are still, 
Was a-smilin’ an’ a-dancin’ ~ 
In that cabin on the hill, 


But the player stopt a-playin’, 
An’ the pictur soon was gone, 

An’ I shouldered up the burden 
That ole Time keeps pilin’ on. 


Still, 1 couldn’t help but scatter 
"Mong the dust o’ all these years, 
As akind 0’ good-bye offerin’, 
Just a few regretful tears. 
ANON. 


SCHNEIDER’S TOMATOES. 


CHNEIDER is very fond of tomatoes. Schneider 
has a friend in the country who raisés “‘ garden sass 
and sich.” Schneider had an invitation to visit his 
friend last week, and regale himself on his favorite 
vegetable. His friend Pfeiffer being busy negotiating 
with a city produce dealer on his arrival, Schneider 
thought he would take a stroll in the garden and see 
some of his favorites in their pristine beauty. We will 
let him tell the rest of the story in his own language. 
“Vell, I valks shust a liddle vhile roundt, when I 
sees some of dose dermaters vot vos so red und nice as 
i nefer dit see any more, und [ dinks I vill put mine- 
self outside about a gauple-a-tozen, shust to geef mea 
liddle abbedide vor dinner. So I pulls off von ov der 
reddest und pest lookin’ of dose dermaters, und dakes a 


/ 


“168 ji BONNIE SWEET JESSIE. 


pooty good bite out of dot, und vas chewing it oup 
pooty quick, ven—by chiminy !—I dort I had a peese 
ov red-hot coals in mine mout, or vas chewing oup dwo 
or dree bapers of needles; und I velt so pad already, 
dot mine eyes vas vool of tears, und I mate vor an ‘ olt 
oken bucket’ vot I seen hanging in der vell, as I vas 
goomin’ along. 3 

“Shust den mine vriend Pfeiffer game oup und ask 
me vot mate me veel so pad, und if any of mine vamily 
vas dead. I’dold him dot I vos der only von ov der 
vamily dot vas pooty-sick, und den I ask him vot kind 
of dermaters dose vas vot I hat shust been bicking ; unt, 
mine cracious, how dot landsman laughft, und said dot 
dose vas red beppers dot he vas raising vor bepper- 
sauce. You pet my life I vas mat. I radder you give 
me feefty tollars as to eat some more of dose bepper- 


sauce dermaters.”’ 
aters Cuas. F. ADAMS. 


BONNIE SWEET JESSIE. 


Qe come, let us wander alone i’ the gloamin’, 
Awa, whare nae ither our pleasure may see, 

Nae hour is so happy as that when I’m roamin’ 
Adown the green valley, my Jessie, wi’ thee. 

’Tis then we forget the dull cares that annoy us, 

Then nane but sweet thochts and bright fancies employ 

bent : 

And life seems sae blithesome, sae merry aad joyous, 

My bonnie sweet Jessie, to you and to me. 


Beyond the far peaks 0’ Ben Lomond descending, 
The sun seeks repose i’ the realms o’ the west; 


A TRAMP’S PHILOSOPHY. 169 


The day and the night i’ safe twilight are blending, 


And nature sinks slowly to silence and rest. 
See, yonder the lark and the swift-flying plover 
Are speeding awa to the hawthornes’ dark cover. 
Then, tenderly clasped i’ the arms of thy lover, 
Recline, my sweet Jessie, thy head on my breast. 


The sunlight has fled frae the tops o’ the mountains, 


The night spreads its curtain o’er land and o’er sea, 
The stars light the clear crystal depths o’ the fountains, 
And shed their soft radiance o’er moorland and lea. 
The night wind the branches above us is wooing, 
And nature our souls with new love is imbuing, 


_As o’er thee I bend, the sweet pledges renewing, 


That bind me forever, sweet Jessie, to thee. 


: A TRAMP’S PHILOSOPHY. 


|e been ’round this country from Texas to Maina 
And mostly with nary a red; 

I’ve walked it for miles in the wettest of rain, 
And slept on a board for a bed. 

But l’ve learnt a few comfortin’ facts by the way, 
While living this queer life of mine, 


And the principal one of the lot, let me say, 


Is “it’s better to whistle than whine.” 


I know that the winter’s a-comin’ on fast; 
I’m aware that a home [ aint got; 

[ see that the clothes I’m a-wearing won’t last 
Till I reach a more torrider spot. 


170 APPLES. 


But nobody yet has discovered in me 

Anxiety’s tiniest sign ; 
And it’s jest ’cause I learnt in my youth, don’t you ses, | 
That “it’s better to whistle than whine.” . 


It strikes me somehow that it’s mighty blamed queer 
That fellers much wiser than me | 
Keep kickin’ because this terrestrial sphere 
Aint jest what they want it to be. 
Their parents have filled them with Latin and Greek, 
But their logic aint equal to mine, 
Or else they would know every day in the week 
That “it’s better to whistle than whine.” 
MERCHANT TRAVELER. - 


APPLES. 
A NEGRO LECTURE. ‘ 


‘¢ A little more cider do.” 


REDDERN avn’ sIsTERN: 

Tse gwine to gib you what I hope will prove to 
you a fruitful discoarse—de subject am dat ob apples. — 
Dem ob my hearers dat only look upon de apple wid an 
eye to apple sass, apple fritters, apple pies, apple dump- 
iins, an’ apple toddies, will hardly be able to compre- — 
stand de apple-cation ob my lectar—to dem I leab de 
peelins, an’ direct de seeds of my discoarse to such as 
hab souls above apple dumplins an’ taste above apple _ 
tarts. . 

Now de apple, accordin’ to Linnzous, the Philea- — 
botanist, am a Fruit originally exported from Adam's — 


APPLES. : 171 


apple-orchard in de Garden ob Eden, an’ made indig- 
genous in ebry climate ’cept de north pole an’ its neigh- 
boren territory de Rolly bolly alis. 

_ De apple, accordin’ to those renowned Lexumcograph- 
ers, Samuel Johnson, Danuel Webster, an’ Dr. Skeleton 
McKensie, am de py-rus molus, which means “To be 
molded into pies.” j 

~ Well, you all know dat de apple tree was de sacred 
vegetable ob de Garden ob Eden till de sly an’ insinu- 


vatin’ sea-sarpent crawled out ob de river on Friday | 


mornen, bit off,an apple, made “ apple-jack,” handed 
de jug to Eve, she took a sip, den handed it to Adam— 
Adam took anoder, by which bofe got topseycated an’ 
fell down de hill ob Paradise, an’ in consequence darof 


de whole woman race an’ human race fell down casmash, A 


like speckled apples from a tree in a stormado. Oh} y 
what a fall was dar, my hearers, when you an’ me, an’ 
I, an’ all drapt down togedder, an’ de sarpent lapped 
his forked tongue in fatissaction. 

But arter all, my hearers, dat terrible fall was ot de 
fault of de fruit ob de apple, but de abuse ob it ; ; fon 43 de 
apple am a very great wegetable, corden as we iiss it or 
abuse it. De apple has been de fruit ob great tings, an’ 
great tings hab been de fruit ob de apple. It was‘ an 
apple dat fust suggested to Sir Humphrey Gravy New- 
town de seeds ob de law ob grabitation, dat wonderful, 
inwisible, an’ unfrizable patent leber principle by which 
all dem luminous an’ voluminous planets turn round 


togedder, all apart in one E pluribus unum ob grabity ;_ 
hence de great poet Longfeller, in de fifty-’leventhcanto ° 


ob Lord Byron, absarves : 


“Man fell by apples, an’ by apples rose” 


ia 


J 


KA 


f 


W. 
Det 
uf 


/ 


172 APPLES. 


Sir Humphrey Gravy Newtown was one day snoozen 
fast asleep under an apple tree, when a large-sized Ken- 
tucky Pippen grabitated from de limb, struck him in 
de eye, an’ all at once his eye was suddenly opened to 
de universal law ob grabitation. 


He saw, the apple downwards fell, 
He thought, “ Why not fall up as well ?” 
It proved some telegraphic spell 
Pulled it arthwise. 
I wish he’d now come back an’ tell 
‘Why apples rise 


so high to a half peck i in de bushel. 

But, my hearers, to come to de grand point ob my 
larned disquisition on apples. Reasoning ap-priori, 1 
sroceed to dis grand fromologico-physiological phree- 

menon, dat eber since our great-grand-modder Eve 
nd our great-great-grand-fader Adam fust tasted apple- 
ana inde orchard ob Eden, de entire human race, an’ 
Jack '\n race in aera has been MBS ae wid de 
wome ob de apple, an’ dat all men an’ women, an’ de 
spiriob mankind, may be compared to some Genus of de 
reste. Dars de Philantropist, he’s a good meller pippen 
applways ripe an’ full ob de seeds ob human kindness. 
—ars de Miser, he’s de “ grindstone” apple—rock to de 
Davy core. Dars de Batchelor, heam arusty coat, an’ like 


Veneefsteak widout gravy—dry to de very heart. Dars 


2 Dandy, he’s a long stim, all peelen. Dars de 
d#armer, he’s de cart-horse apple—a leetle rough on de 


_ peelen, but juicy wid feelen. De Fashionable gent am 


a French pippen, an’ de fashionable young lady am de _ 
Bell-flower—an’ when two sich apples am joined toged- 
der, dey become a pear (pair). De Pollytician am a 


UNCLE NED’S BANJO SONG. 173 


Specked apple—little foul sometimes at de core. De 
young Misses am de “‘ Maiden’s Blushes.”” De Widder 
she am a Pine-apple—pine-en an’ sprouten in de dark 
leaves to blossom once more. De good Wife she am de 
Balsam apple of human life, an’—an’ in finis, de—de 
old Maid she am a crab apple—a fruit never known 
in de apple orchard of Paradise, an’ only fit for Sour- 
land—put her in de cider press of human affection an’ 
she’ll come out forty-leventh proof vinegar, enough 
to sour all human creation—even as de loud thunder ob | 
de hebens sours de cow-juice in de milk-house. 

Lastly, and to conclude, Brederenan’ Sisteren, let it be 
our great aim, howsomever we may differ in our various 
apple species, to strive to go into de great cider press 
of human trial widout a speck in de core or de peelen, 
so dat when de juice of our mortal vartues am squeezed 
out, de Angels when dey fust put dar lips to de cider 
trough, may exclaim wid de poet, 


“A leetle more cider do.” 


UNCLE NED’S BANJO SONG. 


[\E cloud is scattered all away, 
De stars is shinin’ bright ; 
My heart is mighty light and gay, 
I’s gwine abroad to-night ; 
De darkies gwine to ’spec’ me, 
An’ I knows dey’ll want a song; 
An’ I nebber likes to fool ’em, 
So Pll take de banjer ’long ; 


174 


UNCLE NED’S BANJO SONG. 


CHORUS. 
For I’s gwine to de shuckin’, 
For [’s gwine to de shuckin’, 
For I’s gwine to de shuckin’ of de corn. 


Oh! I'll tell ’em at de shuckin’ 
"Bout de little gal o’ mine, 

In her pretty little shanty 
On de Allerbamer line; 

Her eyes is like de Jack-er-lantern, 
Sweet enough to kill; 

An’ when she starts to sing a song, 
She beats de whipperwill ! 


An’ when she hunts de hick’y nuts, 
She mighty nice to see, 

’Cause she beats de raccoon all to pieces 
Clammin’ up de tree ; 

Her teef does shine so mighty white 
Dey sparkle in de dark, 

An’ dey make de sweetest music 
When dey mash de scaly bark! 


An’ when de darkness comes at night 
An’ kivers up de sky, 
Why, she kindles up a fire 
Wid de brightness ob her eye; 
Den she gadders up a pile 0’ wood 
Fum out de cyp’us-brake, 
An’ gits de skillet orf de she’f 
To cook de Johnny-cake! ~ 


De time is slippin’ fas’ away, 
I see de risin’ moon ; 


THE TRAPPER’S LAST TRAIL. 175 


T ought to be down at de corn-’ouse 
Knockin’ out a chune ; 

So I'll git my coat fum out de chis’ 
An’ moobe along de way ; 

Oh! ’twill make dem darkies happy 
When dey hear de banjer play | 


THE TRAPPER’S LAST TRAIL. 


YUH, Jack! ole boy, come hyer an’ lay dows 
Close up to my breast ; I feel so strange ; 
That arrow left such a stinging pain, 
An’ my sight’s losin’ its range. 


My thoughts are scatterin’ out like shot, 
An’ old days crowdin’ in enstead ; 

The wind a-touchin’ my forehead feels 
Like my mother’s hand on my head. 


‘the deer’s a-gettin’ up now to browse, 

For the moon’s jest riz—Here, Sammy, say, 
PU make you a whistle if you don’t tell 

I went in swimmin’ with Tom to-day ! 


Shs-h, Jack! they’re moccasins stealin’ through 
The leaves—That breeze is a sign of rain— 
Oh ! somebody tear this off my throat! 
- Good-night, little sister—that pain— 
* k x eS oe * 


Jack snuffed and sniffed the wounded breast 
And uttered a pitiful wail— 
The trapper had gone and left no track 


For his dog to scent the trail. 
Mapce Morrm 


TAO SRO SES i er NMED SPR OR REEL Rea A) a Ee a a a 
4 i acs Pe a! fra a 
M ; “tp oa ; hw f 


i176 KIDDY M’GINNIS AT THE PHOTOGRAPRERS. 


BIDDY McGINNIS AT THE PHOTOGRA- 
PHER’S. | , 
RRAH! hould your whist now, Whinny, til I’m 
afther tellin’ ye all about gettin’ me goodlook: 
in’ pictur’ tuk. Sure, an’ ye see, I got a famous letther 
from home, axin me viry purticalar, from me father 
an’ mother, me frinds and relashuns, me ansisters an’ 
me gransisters, iv | was thrivin’ bravely? An’ how 
Ameriky was agreein’ wid me? Yis, an’ iv the blush 
av me cheek was as rid, an’ as warrum as whin I lift 
the ould dart? Aye, troth, an’ iv the clothes av the 


counthry wur becomin’ to me? An’ be the same token 


it mintion’d that all that wus livin’, wur injoyin’ good 


health. An’ that Judy Milligan had sint home her > 
pictur’; an’ that all the b’ys in our parts wur nearly. 


mad over it; ‘twas so grand lookin’; an’ bedad, sure 
they must hav’ bin quare things, that wan had on the 
back av hur, to draw a’ remark from any b’y in the 
whole parish, whin I was there, or afore she lift home 
hersilf. Och! but she was th’ ugly drab thin, wid her 
carroty head an’ her turnip nose. How well, she niver 
mintion’d she was goin’ to hay’ her pictur’ drawn to 


sind home, d’ye mind! She thought she’d intice the — 


whole town av Mullingar quite unbeknownst to me, 
d’ye mind that? Bad cess to her! Arrah, d’ye ye 
think now, Whinny, that I’d let that wan bate or 
outdo me in onything? No, thin, be the powers I 
wuddent, unless it was quite unbeknownst to me, 
indade. | 


Says I to mesel’, “Och! glory be till the whole a 


vurreld, sure ’tis you, Miss Biddy McGinnis, cud be 


_BIDDY M’GINNIS AT THE PHOTOGRAPHERS. 17% 


sindin’ home the pictur’ that cud turn the b’ys’ heads, 
an’ that wud be worth lookin’ at.” 

Sure, be the same token, there was me illegant ‘new 
frock ; and be the powers, ’twas med up beauti-ful, just 
aqual to the greatest lady’s in the land ; wid side plait. 
_in’s an’ rufflin’s on the tail avit. Yis, an’ a luyly 
top skirt, an’ it tucked back that snug now, that faix 
whin I do be plantin’ mesel’ on me sate in the kars—it 
does be burstin’ on me a thrifle wid the tightness ay it. 
Och! musha, an’ iv ye cud only see me missus onst, 
cockin’ er two eyes at me, an’ she watchin’ me from 
the winday whin I’m goin’ out ava Sunday. Indade I 
think the cratur’s jealous avy me dacent looks. For, 
begorra, whin ’tis hersilf that’s tightened an’ pulled 
back, she’s that thin now, ye’d think it was three slats 
out ay the bedstid that was tied flat _thegether an’ was 
approachin’ ye, drissed. ’Tis the truth I’m tellin’ ye— 
av coorse it is. But the consait ay the poor thing, now. 
Troth it bates Bannagher, an’ Bannagher bates the 
whole world, ye know. 

Well, alanna dear, away I wint down the street wid 
my frock hiked up on the wan side av me, an’ the 
tail av it in me hand, an’ I niver made a shtop until 
I kem to the likeness shop. An’ after inquirin’ a bit, 
I spel’d up three flights av quare, durty little stairs, 
An’ I walked stret intil the doore av the room at the 
top av thim. An’ there sthood a fine big man widin 
‘as smilin’ as the flowers av May, resaivin’ the ladies 
that kem in as grashus now as a king. 

What kin I be afther doin’ for ye, miss?” says he 

to mesel as p’lite as ye plaze, an’ a grate smile in the 

eye av him. “I know,” says he, “’tis yer pictur’ ye 

want takin’; and mebbe it’s home ye’d want to be sind: 
12 


€ 


{78 EDDY M’GINNIS AT THE PHOTOGRAPHERS. 


in’ it to yer fellay there in ould Ireland, or some othes 
furrin counthry,” says he, spakin’, och, viry respictful, 
but wid a knowin’ wink at the same time, d’ye mind? 

“ Be gorra, sur,” says I, “but it’s good ye are at the 
guessin’, for be me sowl an’ troth that’s jist what I cum 
for,” spakin’ frindly to him, for he had that civil, mild, 
enticin’ way wid him. “ An’ iv ye can make a purty wan 
av me, I’d like to git one drawn immaijately,” says I. 

“A purty one?” says he, lookin’ quite sharp at the 
head av me, an’ castin’ his eye ovir the driss av me. 
“ Indade ’tis a luvly pictur’ ye’ll make, miss, an’ ’tis 
proud that I am that ’tis to our place ye come to git it 
tuk, for there’s no betther in the land av Ameriky,” says 
he, wid a fine tass av his head, d’ye mind? “ Ye’ll pay 
for it furst,” says he, “ an’ thin take off yer bonnit, and 
zo intil the room beyant there an’ the man inside will 
attind to ye.” 

Av coorse I did jist what he bid me, an’ he passed 
me in wid a flurish av his hand, an’ wid as much con- 
desinshun now as a lord, an’ the doore wide opin before 
him. 

Well, Whinny, niver sich asmill I iver smilt at home 
or abroad as was in that room wid some haythen pota- 
eary sthuff. 3 

“Ye'll take a pictur’ av this young lady,” says him- 
self to an ouldish-lookin’ chap that was standing up 
wid-in. An’ he, the crayture, that starved-lookin’ an’ 
pale as iv he was ane 

“Cum this way,” says the ould man, an’ he lant 


me down ina cushi’ned chair forninst a bit av a box 


histid up on three legs an’ wid two eye-holes in the 
frunt av it. 
An’ after pushin’ it an’ straightin’ it to his mind. 


k 


ee eee 


t 
rer ee ee 


BIDDY M’GINNIS AT THE PHOTOGRAPHERS. 179 


back he cums an’ tuk me be me two showlders an’ 
twishted me round on the chair, an’ thin wid me face 
petune his ugly-smel’in’, clatty hands, an’ thim, och, the 
color av a naygur’s, he gev me head a twisht, an’ 
howldin’ it in wan hand, he clapped a grapplin’-iron til 
the back av me, an’ fell to the shcrewin’ ay it wid the 
other hand, d’ye mind? 

“ What in the name av goodness are yes doin’ that 
for ?” says I, for be all that’s good an’ bad I was gettin’ 
afeard av the ould skiliton. “ What are ye doin’ to me 
at all at all?” says I, quite sheared like. 

“Och, be aisy, be aisy,” says he, ‘an’ kape sthill tha 
way I’ll fix ye, for I don’t want the whole av yer face 
to appear in the pictur’,” l’avin’ go his clutch av me at 
the same time, an’ before I cud hindur or prevint him, 
didn’t he dust: a lock av flour ovir me head, an’ jewkin’ 
down in front av me, admirin’-like at the same time. 
“Now don’t move,” says he, “kape viry sthill til’ I 
cum back,” an’ away he wint intil a little dark room 
beyant. 

Now, it wint through me like a flash that they were 
rogues, the pair av thim, an’ that they wur goin’ to 
chate me—the one fellay outside wid me money safe 
widin his trowsers, an’ this ould pick’d-lookin’ divil 
sthrivin’ to p’am aff the haf av me face on mesilf for 
the whole av it, d’ye mind? ‘“ Yez may take me for a 
granehorn,” says I to mesil, “but the divi] skure me iv 
I don’t git satisfacshun or me money out av yes, me 
fine laddie bucks. Yis, aven iv I hav’ to take in the 
purlice to the both av yes.” Howly faythers! may I 
niver brathe another breath, an’ ye’ll blave me, the 
anxiety I was sufferin’ under was terribil—it was. 

Be dad! he was no sooner in that little room but J 


Foe RPA es eS NLT Uta eAt esterase ans TRE A Ty ee see MT Ys hy ee a 
Tenet o ne 4 ys in ' rise 2 U rane Ai, Y . 


180 BIDDY M’GINNIS AT THE PHOTOGRAPHERS. 


was out av that sate, an’ me roun’ to the back av the 
little box to satisfy mesel’ that he had no murthrus 
waypins consailed widin it ready to fire at me may be 
in an unguardid minute. 

But, niver a haporth cud I see,-for a black cloth he 


had hung ovir the frunt av it, an’ jist as I was puttin’ 
me hand ovir the ould rag, may all the saints in hiv 
purserve me, but there stud the ould bag iv bones at — 


the side av me; aye, an he wid me hand grab’d. Och, 
may I nivir stir but I was all av a violent thrimble—I 
was. 


out av there?” says he. “ Didn’t I. tell ye to kape 
sthill, an’ not stur ?” says he, lookin’ wild at me. 

“Tm not takin’ anything, sur,’ says I, when I cud 
command mesel’ a thrifle, an’ the heart av me givin’ 
ivery lape widin me throat, be the token. 


“Sure, sir, I was sthrivin’ to look through the little — 
windies at mesel’ ‘beyant there,” says I, still kapin’ me — 


eye viry jubius-like on the little box, d’ye mind? 

“ Well, yez needn’t git so frightened,’ says he, seein’ 
the state I was in. “ There’s no great harrum done, an’ 
ye needn’t be lookin’ that way at the insthrument,” 


says he, “ for there’s no wild baste in there that/ll j jump 


out an’ devour ye. An’ to quiet ye, Dll let ye look an’ 


yell see how your pictur’s tuk,” says he, an’ wid that j 
he pull’d away: the cloth. ‘“ Now,” says he, “look “le 


an’ yell see yersilf.”’ 
“Och! sure that’s not me at all at all, that Tm 
lookin’ at down beyant there,” says I. 


“Tut, tut,” says he, “avy coorse it’s not ye, but me. ; 
Amn’t I sthrivin’ to show ye the way ye will look whim — 


-yer here,” says he, ‘“ That’s the way ye’ll look.” 


* 


“ What are ye doin’ here?” says he. ‘“ What tuk ye 


er a Oe ee a i 


_ BIDDY M’GINNIS AT THE PHOTOGRAPHERS. 18] 


“ Are ye sure av it ?” says I. 

“T am,” says he. 

“That Pll look that way ?” says I. 

“Exactly. The identicle way,’’ says he. 

“Thin mailie, murther! mailie, murther! let me out 
ay here,” says I, gaspin’ like. For iv you'll b’lave me, 
there he was, stan’in’ forninst me, as plain as ye plaze; 
wid his heels in the air, an’ his head on the floore. 

“ Och, giv’ me me money, an’ let me out av here this 
minit,” says I, “ ye murtherin’ ould thafe.” 

“What’s the row? what’s the row?” says the big man, 
comin’ in out av the other roome. 

“Row, thin, enough,” says I. “That ould starved 
crow, there beyant, was goin’ to git me down there, | 
an’ when he get the grappers tight on the back avy 
me lugs, he was goin’ to stand me on the tap av me hed, . 
an’ may be murther me entirely. Yez tuk me for a 
granehorn, did yez?” says I; “well, ’'m not so grane 
as ye think now, may be, an’ iv ye don’t giv’ me money, 
an’ let me out av here, I'll hav’ yez both up afore 
the coort for a pair av thaves, that ye are.” 

- Och, thunder an’ turf, Whinny. Iv yo’ll b’lave me, 
an’ may I niver stir, but it’s the truth, I’m tellin’, 
What wur thim two villians doin’, but laughin’ an’ 
roarin’ at me, yis, that hearty now, that y’u’d think the 
very sides av thim wud split open. Aye, troth an’ me 
that ragin’ I cud hav’ torn ivery hair out av their 
heads, iv I cud hav’ clutched thim wid me two hands. 
O Lord! forgive me. They just curdled the blood ay me 
with the rage, they did. An’ whin the outside wan—yis 
—the wan that had me hard earnin’ in his pockit—cud 
control himsilf from burstin’ wid the laughin’, says he, 
lookin viry sawdherin’ like, ‘ Och, bless ye! bless ye! 


182 BIDDY M’GINNIS AT THE PHOTOGRAPHERS. 


Ye didn’t understand him, Miss. Sure, it’s not ye at 
all, at all; but your pictur’ that’ll be revarsed in the 
takin’,’ says he; “ an’ it’s yersilf will be sittin’ quite 
quiet—in yer chair—like a quane upon her throne. 
Come now,” says he, “an’ Ill fix ye mesilf.” At the 
same time takin’ me by me hand and ladin’ me back to 
the sate I was in afore, yis, an’ twhistin’ me the Be 
identicle way the ould scare-crow did. Aye, faix! an’ 
grapped the ould screwin’ iron on me, too, just the same 
now as that ould rashkill did. 

“ Now, ye'll sit res an’ look at that sthick, at the 
corner ay the box, an’ don’t move whilst I’m countin’,” 
says he, at the same time puttin’ somethin’ that ould 
picky-bones had gev him intil the frunt av-the little 
box. ‘ Now mind,” says he, ‘“ don’t stur,” an’ wid that 
he turn’d his back an’ begun to count for his life. For 
I cud see plain enough that the laugh wasn’t out av him 
yit. Och, lave me alone, but I knew enough to not let 
thim bate me out of anythin’ this time, d’ye mind? 
So I jist planted mesilf stret round an’ cock’d me twe 


eyes stret in frunt av me. An’ troth I had quite — 
enough to kape me imployed watchin’ the little sthick,. 


and the box, and his own back,d’ye mind? “That'll 
do for the prisint,” says he, “but remain where ye are, 


for I may hav’ to take ye oyir ag’in.” An’ wid that. 


he handed 4 bit av a slate to ould skinny-bags, an’ he 
whip’d wid it intil his little din. Purty soon he kem 
out, an’ the two were talkin’ thegether like a couple ay 
pirates, dishputin’ betune thimsilves. So, whin they 


had settled it, himself walks up to me, an’ says he, “I - 


hav’ the pictur’ av you now, only,” says he, “ it has far 
more than belongs to ye, but I’ll show it to ye to con- 
vince ye that we wur not chatin’ ye out av yer eyes. 


eee eS a ee 


BRAVEST OF THE BRAVE. 183 


onyway.” An’, Whinny, och Whinny, acushla! Iv 
there wasn’t mesilf wid four eyes an’ two mouths in the face 
av me. Allother ways as natural as life, top skirt an’ all. 

“Tm rot willin’ to giv’ ye so much for the price,” 
says he, “an’ iv ye'll just look at a luvly little burd 
that PIl hould in my hand intil I count thurty, Pll jist 
take two avy yer eyes out an’ clap thim intil me pockit 
to remember ye by, an’ yer mouth an yer voice. Deed, 
I'll niver forgit, as long as I live,” says he. 

So wid that the ould fairy gev him the slate back 
agin, an’ he clapped it intil the box, fixed me ovir, 
avick; held up’his little burd for me to look at, an’ be 
jabers! he niver tuk his two eyes off me face, this time, 
an’ him countin’ as solim now as an ould judge, readin’ the 
dith sintince ; an’ whin they got through, this was what 
they brung to me; an’ iv ye don’t say it’s as good a 
lookin’ gurril as iver left the county Connaught—heath, 
I’m sure my mother will, whin she sees it. Och, look 
it there! Isn’t it the dazzler? 7 


v 


BRAVEST OF THE BRAVE. 


PIHEY's fellers a-writin’ about the wa, 
& ’At nobody ever knowed before, 
An’ ne’er a word, you understand, 

*Bout Corp’al Alexander Rand. 


In ever’ paper, West an’ Kast, 

Them writes the most as fit the least ; 
But there was chéers and carnage when 
Braye Corp’al Rand led on his men. 


184 TESTIMONY IN A STEAMBOAT CASE. 


When Grant was in that awful mess 

A fightin’ in the Wilderness, 

Says Meade, “ Who bears the battle’s heft ?? 
Says Grant, “It’s Rand, ’at holds the left.” 


When rebeldom was out of j’int, 

An’ Lincoln came from City P’int, 

“ Well, well!” says he, with honest joy, 
“There’s Corp’al Rand, of Helinoy.” 


An’ yet I aint, nor you aint seen 
His pictur’ in a magazine ; 

The bravest man ’at ever drored 
In any cause a soljer’s sword. 


The sharpest, keenest, bravest man 
To plan, er execute a plan ; 
Ef long as time his fame don’t stand 
My name aint Alexander Rand. 
R. J. BURDETTH, 


A DUTCHMAN’S TESTIMONY IN A $ TEAM 
BOAT CASE. 


EVERAL years ago the steamboat Buckeye blew 


up on the Ohio River near Pittsburg, by which 


accident a lady rejoicing in the name of Mrs. Rebecca a 
Jones lost both her husband and her baggage. In due — 


time she brought suit against the owners of the boat for 


4 
| 


¥ 
S, 
, 


TESTIMONY IN A STEAMBOAT CASE. 183 


damages for the death of-her husband, as well as com. 
pensation for the loss of her clothing. On trial, the 
defense denied everything. It was alleged that neither 
Jones nor his wife was aboard the Buckeye, and there 
fore he could not have been killed, or any clothing lost. 
The Jones family, being strangers in Pittsburg, where 
they went on board the boat, it was difficult to find any 
witnesses to prove that the missing man was actually 
on board, or that he was killed. Finally Mrs. Jones 
remembered that a Dutchman who took their trunk 
from the hotel at Pittsburg was a deck passenger,’ and 
he was soon found and subpcenaed as a witness. His 
name was Deitzman, and being called to the stand, he 
was questioned as follows : : 

Counsel for Mrs. Jones—Mr. Deitzman, did you know 
the steamboat Buckeye? | 

Witness.— Yaw, I vas plow up mit her. 

Counsel—Were you on board when the boiler col- 
lapsed ? 

Witness.—Yaas, I vas on de poat ven de piler bust. 
- Counsel.—Did you know Mr. Jones, the husband of 
this lady ? [pointing to plaintiff]. 

Witness.—To pe sure I know him; [ pring his trunk 
on de poat at Bittsburg, and ve paid our passage toged- 
der at der captain’s office. 

Counsel.— Well, did he stay aboard; did you see him 
_ on the boat at the time of the soplodon! ? 
Witness.—Nix: I didn’t see Mr. Shones on der poat 
at dat time. 

Counsel for Defense [eagerly].—So, he wasn’t on 
the Buckeye when the boiler exploded, that you know 
of? 

Witness.—I didn’t say dat. 


186 ‘“BEVARE OF THE VIDDERS.” 


Counsel [with a triumphant glance at the jury].— 
What did you say then? when did you last see Jones? 

Witness.— Vell, I shtocd by der shmoke bipe ven der 
piler pust, and I didn’t gee Mr. Shones den; but 
ven me and der shmoke bipe vas goin’ up in de air, 
I see Shones coming down! JDat’s der last time I see 
him. ; 

This testimony being thought conclusive, the jury 
gave Mrs. Jones a verdict for five thousand dollars. 


‘BEVARE OF. THE VIDDERS.” 


XCOOSE me if I shed some tears, 
Und vipe my nose avay ; 
Und if a lump vos in my troat, 
It comes up dere to shtay. 


My sadness I shall now unfoldt, 
Und if dot tale of woe 

Don’t do some Dutchmans any good 
Den I don’d pelief I know. 


You see I fall myself in love, 
Und effery night I goes — 

Across to Brooklyn by dot pridge, 
All dressed in Sunday clothes. 


A vidder voman vos der brize, 
Her husband he vos dead ; 

Und all alone in dis coldt vorldt 
Dot vidder vos, she saidt. 


* BEVARE OF THE VIDDERS.” 187 


Her heart for love vos on der pine, 
Und dot I like ter see; 

Und all de time I hoped dot heart 
Vos on der pine for me. 


I keeps a butcher-shop, you know, 
And in a shtocking stout 

I put avay my gold und bills, 
Und no one gets him oudt. 


If, in der night, some bank cashier. 
Goes skipping off mit cash, 

I shleep so sound as nefer vas, 
While rich folks go to smash. 


I court dot vidder sixteen months, 
Dot vidder she courts me, 

Und ven I says: “ Vill you be mine?” 
She says: “ You bet Ill be!” 


Ve vos engaged—oh, blessed fact! 
I squeeze dot dimpled hand, 
Her head upon my shoulder lays 

Shust like a bag of sand. 


Before der wedding day was set, 
She whispers in my ear: 
“T like to say I haf to use 
Some cash, my Yacob dear. 


“ I owns dis house und two big farms, 
Una ponds und railroad shtock ; 
Und up in Yonkers I bossess 
A grand big peesness block. 


188 THE FUNERAL. 


“ Der times vos dull, my butcher boy, 
Der market vos no good, 
Und if I sell—” I squeezed her hant 
To show I understood. 


Next day—oxcoose my briny tears— 
Dot shtocking took a shrink ; 

I counted out twelve hundred in 
Der cleanest kind of chink. 


Und later by two days or more, 
Dot vidder shlopes avay ; — 

Und leaves a note behindt for me 
In vich dot vidder say: 


“DEAR SHAKE:— 
“ Der rose vos redt, 
Der violet blue~ 
You see I’ve left, 
Und you’re left, too!” 


THE FUNERAL. 


WAS walking in Savannah, past a church decayed 
and dim, 
When there slowly through the window came a plain. 
tive funeral hymn ; 
And a sympathy awakened, and a ponder quickly grew, 
Till I found myself environed in a little negro pew. 


Out at front a colored couple sat in sorrow, nearly wild; 
On the altar was a coffin, in the coffin was a child. 


THE FUNERAL. 183 


I could picture him when living—curly hair, protruding 
~ ip— 
And had seen perhaps a thousand in my hurried 
Southern trip. 


- But no baby ever rested in the soothing arms of death 

That had fanned more flames of sorrow with his little 
fluttering breath ; 

And no funeral ever glistened with more sympathy pro- 
found 

Than was in the chain ne tear drops that enclasped those 
mourners round. 


Rose a sad old colored preacher at the little wooden 
desk— - 

With a manner grandly awkward, with a countenance 
grotesque ; 

With simplicity and shrewdness on his Ethiopian face; 


_ With the ignorance and wisdom of a crushed, undying 


race. 


_ And he said, “ Now don’ be weepin’ for dis pretty bit o’ 

clay— 

For de little boy who lived there, he done gone an’ run 
away ! 

He was doin’ very finely, an’ he ’preciate your love ; 

But his sure “nuff Father want him in de large house 
up above. 


“ Now He didn’ give you dat baby, by a hundred thou- 
san’ mile! 

He just think you need some sunshine, an’ He lend it 
for awhile! 


190 THE FUNERAL. 


An’ He let you keep an’ love it till your hearts was 
bigger grown ; 

An’ dese silver tears you’re sheddin’s jest de interest on 
de loan. 


“ Here your oder pretty chil’run!—don’t be makin’ it 
appear, 

Dat your love got sort 0’ ’nopolized by this little fellow 
here ; 

Don’ pile up too much your sorrow on deir little men- 
tal alehy es, 


So’s to kind o’ set ’em wonderin: if dey’re no account 


themselves! 


“ Just you think, you poor deah mounahs, creepin’ “long 
_ o’er Sorrow’s way, 

What a blessed little picnic dis yere baby’s got to-day ! 

Your good faders and good moders vrowd de little fel 

low round 

In de angel-tended garden of de Big Plantation-Ground. 


“ An’ dey ask him, ‘ Was your feet sore?’ an’ take off hig 
little shoes. 

An’ dey wash him, an’ dey kiss him, an’ dey say: ‘ Now 
what’s de news?” 

An’ de Lawd done cut his tongue loose; den de little 
fellow say : 

‘All our folks down in de valley tries to keep de hebenly 
way.’ 


“ An’ his eyes dey brightly sparkle at de pretty things 
he view; 

Den a tear come, and he whisper: ‘ But I want my 
paryents, too!’ 


ae 


IT’S VERA WEEL. {91 


But de Angel Chief Musician teach dat boy a little 
song ; 

Says ‘If only dey be fait’ful dey will soon be comin’ 
long.’ 


“ An’ he'll get an education dat will prober’bly be 
worth ) 

Seberal times as much as any you could buy for him on 
earth ; 

He’ll be in de Lawd’s big school-house, widout no con- 
tempt or fear ; 

While dere’s no ead to de bad tings might have hae 

pened to him here. 


“So, my pooah dejected mounahs, let your hearts wid 
Jesus rest, 

An’ don’t go to critercisin’ dat ar One w’at knows de 
best ! 

He have sent us many comforts—He have right to take 
away— 

To de Lawd & praise an’ glory now and ever! Let us 
| pray.” 
WiLuL CARLETON, 


IT’S VERA WEEL. 


—_——_—_—— 


se vera weel throughoot the day, 
When ta’en up wi’ wark or play, 

To think a man can live alway __ 
Wioot a wifey ; 


192 


te 
Re 
+ 


ITS VERA WEEL. 


But it’s anither thing, at night, 

To sit alone by can’le-light, 

Or gang till rest, when shairp winds. bite, 
Woot a wifey. 


It’s vera weel when claes are new, 

To think they’ll always last just so, 

And look as weel as they do noo, 
Woot a wifey ; 


But when the holes begin to show, 

The stitches rip, the buttons go, 

What in the warl’s a man to do 
Woot a wifey ? 


It’s vera weel when skies are clear, 

When frien’s are true and lassies dear, 

To think ye’ll gang through life—nae fear— 
Wi’oot a wifey ; 


But clouds will come the skies athart, 

Lassies will marry, frien’s maun part ; 

Wha then can cheer your saddened heart 
Like a dear wifey ? 


It’s vera weel when young and hale:— 
But when ye’re ould, and crazed, and frail, 
And your blithe spirits ’gin to fail, 

You’ll want a wifey ; 


But mayhap then the lassies dear 

Will treat your offers wi’ a sneer; 

Because ye’re cranky, gray, and sere, 
Ye’ll get nae wifey. 


el ae AO a at 


DE PREACHER AN’ DE HANTS. - 193 


Then haste ye, haste, ye silly loon; 
Rise up and seek aboot the toon, 
And get Heaven’s greatest earthly boon— 
A wee bit wifey. 
WALLACE DUNBAR, 


DE PREACHER AN’ DE HANTS. 


A STORY RELATED BY UNCLE PERRY, A DARKEY OF 
THE OLDEN TIME. 


AR wuz a hous’ by hitself in an ole fiel’.. De hous’ 
wuz off a piece from de main road. Some rich 
people useter lib dar wunst, but dey had all died out. 
De tramps an’ all de pussons trabelling along de road 
wouldn’t stop at de hous’, ’caise dey heerd hit was 
hantid, an’ wuz afeard de hants would scare ’em off. 

After awhile dar come an ole preacher along, an’ hit 
wuz rainin’ mighty heaby. He axed some ob de nabors 
ef he could put up at de hous’ in de fiel’ fer de night, 

ez hit wuz gitten berry dark ’bout dat time. De nabors 
tole him he could stay dar ef he wantid ter, but dat de 
buildin’ was bout giben up ter de hants. 
_ De preacher neber said much, but he borrered a box 
of lucifum matches an’ a big taller candil. Den he 
-tromped straight ter de hous’ an’ struck a light, an’ 
_ went in peart wid his head helt high. 

De fust thing he foun’ wuz an ole table in the closes’ 
cornder ob de down-stairs room. He drawed hit out 
inter de middle ob de flo’ ; den hetuk his Bible from de 
big inside pockit ob his coat, laid hit on de table, pulled 
a miljewed rockin’ chair ter de side ob der candil, tuk 
__ his seat easy, an’ opened de book. 


194 DE PREACHER AN’ DE HANTS. 


All dis time de daddy-long-legs an’ de cockroaches 
wuz crawlin’ in an’ out ob de walls; de spiders wuz 
movin’ in de big black cobwebs, an’ de rats an’ mouses 
wuz makin’ a rakit all ober de hous’. De preacher 
neber tuk no notice ob de varmints ; he wiped his specs’ 
wid a-bluehandkercher, put dem on, an’ sot inter readin’. 

De rain wuz fallin’ an’ fallin’, but de win’ neber 
blowed much; an’ de candil kep’ still ez de preacher. 

"Way long bout de middle of de night in walked de 
body ob a bulldog, widout a head. He neber barked, 
but when he got clos’ ter de table he moved back’ards 
slow to the front door, an’ banished swif’ inter de dark- 
ness an’ de rain. 

An’ de preacher an’ de candil bofe kep’ still. 

After a while a cow come in wid no horns on her 
head an’ no motionin’ ob de tail. She crossed de room 
an’ passed froo de wall by the side ob de chimbly. 

An’ de preacher an’ de candil neber moved. 

Nex’ dar come in two black cats wid monstrous heads, 


and eyes ez big ez de owl’s a-blinkin’ at um from de 


dark eend ob de room. De eyes ob dem vats look like 


coals ob fire, wid no ashes on um. Dey crope up onder 


de table whar de foots ob de preacher wuz stretched out 
an’ mounted on um. De har on his head ris’ we’en dey 
teched him, but he neber sed nuthin’, an’ kep’ a-readin’ 
an’ readin’ in de good book. 

Jest ’fore de breakin’ ob de day de flame ob de candil 
lep’ up. De win’ neber struc’ hit, fer de a’r wuz still, 
De light fell suddin ez hit ris’, and sot inter burnin’ blue. 

Den in come a man wid a ’ooman follerin’ him, an’ 
bofe of um in long white clothes, wid de smell ob de 
grabeyard all ober dem. 

Dey wuz ghoses! 


TIM MURPHY’S STEW. 193 


De preacher neber had knowed um, livin’ or dead, 
but he shet de Bible and axked um easy: 

“Name ob de Lawd, w’at yo’ want ?” 

Den dey tole him dey wuz from de t’other worl’ and 
eouldn’t res’ happy in de churchyard, becaise ob some 
money dey hid afore dey died. 

Dey sed ’twas nine t’ousan’ do’lahs and wuz Huried 3 
“way down on a hillside.” Dey tole him whar to fine 
hit. Den dey said dey had two brudders libin’ an’ 
begged de preacher ter git de money an’ gib de brud- 
ders two t’ousan’ apiece ; de balance wuz his’n. 

Dey said ’twas giben ter him fer speakin’ ter dem. 
Dey tole him dey could res’ happy now, and dey lef’ 
him. An’ de mornin’ broke wid de preacher settin’ at 
de table wid bofe hands on de Bible. 

De eend ob de tale say dat de preacher foun’ de 
money, an’ done right by de brudders. An’ atter dat 
enny body could sleep in de house. 

Nobody neber wuz brave enuff ter speak ter de hants 
tzl’ de preacher come along. He jes’ sot down and read 
de good book all night. Wn. H. Hayne 


TIM MURPHY’S STEW. 


IM MURPHY (solus): I saw Teddy Reagan the 
other day; he told me he had been dealing in 
hogs. “Is business good?’ says J. “ Yis,” says he. 
“Talking about hogs, Teddy, how do you find your- 
self?” sez I. I wint to buy a clock the other day, to 
make a present to Mary Jane. “Will you have 
a Frinch clock?’ says the jeweler. “The deuce 
take your Frinch clock,” sez I. “I want a clock 


196 TIM MURPHY’S STEW. 


that my sister can understand when it strikes.” “4 
have a Dutch clock,” sez he, “an’ you can put that 
on the sthairs.” “It might run down if I put it there,’ 
sez I. “ Well,’’ sez he, “ here’s a Yankee clock, with a 
lookin’-glass in the front, so that you can see yourself,”’ 
sez he. “It’s too ugly,’ says I. “Thin I’ll take the 
Jookin’-glass out, an’ whin you look at it you'll not find 
it so ugly,’’ sez he. ) 


I wint to Chatham Sthreet to buy a shirt, for the one 


I had on was a thrifle soiled. The Jew who kept the 
sthore looked at my bosom, an’ said: “So hellup me 
gracious! how long do you vear a shirt?” “Twinty- 
eight inches,’ sez I. ‘Have you any fine shirts?” sez 
I. “ Yis,’’ sez he. ‘ Are they clane?” sez I. “ Yis,” 
sez he. “Thin you had betther put on one,” sez I. 


You may talk about bringin’ up childer in the way 


they should go, but I believe in bringing them up by 
the hair of the head. Talking about bringing up 
childer—I hear my childer’s prayers every night. The 
other night I let thim up to bed without thim. I 


skipped and sthood behind the door. I heard the big 


boy say: “Give us this day our daily bread.’ The 


little fellow said: “Sthrike him for pie, Johnny.” I~ 


have one of the most economical boys in the city of New 


York ; he hasn’t spint one cint for the last two years. 


J am expecting him down from Sing Sing next week. 

Talking about boys, I have a nephew who, five years 
ago, couldn’t write a word. Last week he wrote his 
name for $10,000 ; he'll git tin years in Auburn. : 

They had a fight at Tim Owen’s wake last week. 
Mary Jane was there. She says that, barrin’ herself, 
there was only one whole nose left in the party, an’ that 
Yelonged to the tay-kettle. 


FRITZ AND £& 


FRITZ AND I. 


NHEER, blease helb a boor oldt mam 
Vot gomes vrom Sharmany,- 
Mit Fritz, mine tog, and only freund, 
To geep me company. 


I haf no geld to puy mine pread, 
No blace to lay me down; 

For ve vas vanderers, Fritz and I, 
Und sdrangers in der town. 


Some beoples gife us dings to eadt, 
Und some dey kicks us oudt, 

Und say, “ You don’d got peesnis here 
To sdroll der schtreets aboudt !”" 


- Vot’s dot you say ?—you puy mine tog. 
To gift me pread to eadt ! 

I was so boor as never vas, 
But I vas no “ tead beat.” 


Vot, sell mine tog, mine leetle tog. 
Dot vollows me aboudt, 
Und vags his dail like anydings 

. Vene’er I dakes him oudt? 


Schust look at him, und see him schump? 
He likes me pooty vell ; 

Und dere vas somedings ’bout dot tog, 
Mynheer, I wouldn’t sell. . 


“Der collar?” Nein: ’twas someding elag 
Vrom vich I gould not bart; 


198 A TEXT WITHOUT A SERMON. 


Und, if dot ding vas dook avay 
I dink it prakes mine heart. 


Vot vos it, den, aboudt dot tog, 
You ashk, “ dot’s not vor sale ?” 
I dells you vot it ish, mine freund: 
*Tish der vag off dot tog’s dail ! 
CHARLES F. ADAM& 


A TEXT WITHOUT A SERMON. 


f\HERE wor once a mason at Guiseley gat intor his 
heead ’aht he wor just cut aht for a preycher, so 
he went to see a Methody parson, an’ asst him if he 
couldn’t get him a job as a “ local’’ somewhear; he 
wor sewer if they’d nobbut give him a right chance, he 
could convert sinners wholesale. Well, after a gooid 
deal of bother t’ parson gat a vacant poolpit for him i’ 
some ahtside country place, an’ theer one fine Sunda’ 
mornin’ in t’ mason went, reight weel suited wi’ hizen. 
Up into t’ poolpit he mahnted, like one ’at wor weel 
used t’ job. All went on quietly eniff, whol t’ time 
come for him to begin his sarmon, an’ theer wor a rare _ 
congregation to listen tul him. 3 
“Nah, my friends,’ he began, in a stammerin’ sort of 
way, “t’ text is this: ‘I am t’ leet 0’ t’ world.’’’ He 
then waited a bit, an’ a’ter thumpin’ t’ poolpit top 
toathree times, he gat on a bit further. “ Firstly, my 
friends,’ he says—“ firstly, I—I—I am t’ leet o’ t’ 
world,’ an’ then he com’ t’ another full stop, and 
thumpt the poolpit agean a bit. “ Yes,’’ he said agean, 


THE WIDOW O’SHANE’S RINT. 195 


*in t’ first place I—I—I am t’ leet 0’ ? world,’’ but 
he couldn’t get a word further, dew what he would. 

At t’ last, hahiver, there wor an owd woman among’t 
t’ congregation sang aht, “I tell tha what it is, lad, if 
tha’rt t’ leet o’o t’ world, thah sadly wants snuffin’.”’ 

An’ t’ poor mason hookt it aht o’ t’ chapel as if he’d 
been bitten wi’ a mad dog. He wor never known t’ 
enter a poolpit at after. — 


——, 


THE WIDOW O’SHANE’S RINT. 


\ HIST, there! Mary Murphy, doan think me 
insane, 

But I’m dyin’ ter tell ye of Widder O’Shane: 

She as lives in the attic nixt mine, doan ye know, 

An’ does the foine washin’ fer ould Misther Schnow. 


Wid niver a chick nor a child ter track in, - 

Her kitchen is always as nate as a pin; 

An’ her cap an’ her apron is always that clane— 
Och, a mivhty foin gurral is the Widder O’Shane, 


An’ wud ye belave me, on Sathurday night 

We heard a rough stip comin’ over our flight ; 
An’ Mike, me ould man, he jist hollered to me, 

“ Look out av the door an’ see who it moight be.” 


An’ I looked, Mary Murphy, an’ save me if there 
Wasn’t Thomas Mahone on the uppermost stair, 

(He’s the landlord; ye’re seen him yerself, wid a cane 3} 
An’ he knocked on the door of the Widder O’Shane, 


200 THE WIDOW O’SHANE’S RINT. 


An’ I whispered to Michael, “ Now what can it mane 
That his worship is calling on Widder O’Shane?” 
(Rint day comes a Friday, wid us, doan ye see, 

So I knew that it wusn’t collictin’ he’d be.) 


“Tt must be she owes him some money for rint, 

Though the neighbors do say that she pays to the cint, 
You take care of the baby, Michael Brady,” says I, 

« An’ I'll pape through the keyhole, I will, if I die.” 


The houly saints bliss me! what shudn’t I see 

But the Widder O’Shane sittin’ pourin’ the tea ; 
An’ the landlord was there—Mr. Thomas Mahone— 
A-sittin’ one side ov the table alone. 


An’ he looked at the Widder O’Shane, an’ sez he, 
“Ti’s a privilege great that ye offer ter me; © 

Fer I’ve not sat down by a woman’s side 

Since I sat by her that I once called me bride. 


“ An’ is it ye’re poor now, Widder O’Shane? 
Ye’re adacent woman, tidy an’ clane; 

An’ we’re both av us here in the world alone— 
Wud ye think uy unitin’ wid Thomas Mahone?” 


Then the Widder O’Shane put the teakettle down, 
An’ she sez, “Mr. Thomas, yer name is a crown; 
I take it most gladly ”—an’* then me ould man © 
Hollered, “ Bridget cum in here quick as yer can.” 


So, then, Mary Murphy, I riz off that floor, 

An’ run into me attic an’ bolted the door; 

An’ I sez to me Michael, “ Now isn’t it mane? 

‘She'll have no rint to pay, will that Widder O’Shane.™ 


SHOEMAKER’S 
Best Selections 


FOR READINGS AND RECITATIONS 
Numbers {to 27 Now (ssued 


‘@eachers, Readers, Students, and ali persons who 
have occasion to use books of this kind, concede 
this to be the best series of speakers published. 
The different numbers are compiled by leading — 
elocutionists of the country, who have exceptionat 
facilities for securing selections and whose judgment 
as to their merits is invaluable. No trouble or exe 
pense is spared to obtain the very best readings and 
recitations, and much material is used by special 
arrangement with other publishers, thus securing 
the best selections from such American authors as 
Longfellow, Holmes, Whittier, Lowell, Emerson, 
Alice and Phoebe Cary, Mrs. Stowe, and mam 
others. The foremost English authors are als) 
represented, as well as the leading French and Ger. 
man writers. The series is not only valuable for the 
readings and recitations it contains, but is also aa 
attractive addition to the home library, as the seleé. 
tions make interesting reading as short stories. 


For brief descriptions of a few of the most popular pieces 
fm each number of this series, see pages immediately follows 
ing. itis not to be understood that the pieces described ere 
the only ones in the book. Each number contains from 
seventy-five to one hundred pieces. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING 
SCOMPANY PHILADELPHIA 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—Ro. 


Abraham Lincoln, by Henry Ward 


beecher. An eloquent eulogy. 

Annie and Willie’s Prayer, for Christ- 
mas. Pathetic, 

Betsey and I Are Out, by Will Carle- 
ton. Rustic. Strong. 

Blue and the Gray, The. For Deco- 
ration Day. 


y 
Boys, The, by Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
For Class Day. 

Bridge, The, by Henry W. Longfellow. 
Reflective. 
Bugle Song. Break, Break, Break, 

by Alfred Tennyson. Great favorites. 
Charge of the Light Brigade. Dra- 


matic, 
Child Wife, The, by Charles Dickens. 
Humorous. 
Crossing the Carry. Mirth-provoking. 
Creeds of the Belis, The. For church 
entertainment. Humorous. 
Death of Little Jo, Death of Little 
Nell, by Charles Dickens. Pathetic. 
Ber Coming Man. German dialect. 
Dying Christian, The. Religious. 
Evening at the Farm, by J. T. Trow- 
bridge. Pastoral. Pleasing. 
Experience with European Guides, 
by Mark Twain. Very humorous. 
Forty Years Ago. Reminiscent. 
Hamilet’s Instruction to the Players. 


Independence Bell. Fourth of July. 
frish Schoolmaster, The. Irish hu- 
mor. 


John Maynard. 
story. 

Katie Lee and Willie Gray. Pleasing. 

Katydid, by Oliver Wendell Holmes- 
Quiet humor, 

Launch of the Ship, The, by Henry 
W. Longfellow. Strong, patriotic. 
Memory of Washington, The, by Ed 

Everett. Washington’s Birthday. — 
Mocern Cain, The. A strong temper 
ance selection. 


A thrilling, neroi¢ 


Nobody’s Child. Very pathetic. 
Old Yankee Farmer, The. Dialect. 
Our Folks. A story of the Rebellion, 


Pathetic. 
Patrick Dolin’s Love Letter. 
morous. Dialect. 
Piece of Bunting, A. 
toric. 

Relief of Lucknow, The. Emotional. 

Revolutionary Rising, The. Patriotic 
and stirring. 

Scrooge and Marley. From Dickens’ 
Christmas Carol. 

Smack in School, The. Very amusing, 

Spartacus to the Gladiators. Strong. 

Why He Wouldn’t Sell the Farm. 
Pathetic and patriotic. 

William Tell. Dramaticand thrilling. 

Will the New Year Come To-night, 
Mamma? Very pathetic. 

You Put No Flowers on My Papa’s 


Hu. 


Patriotic. Hise 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—No. 2 


Abigail Becker. A thrilling rescue. 

Altruism. Very amusing. 

Arnold Winkelried. Patriotic and 
soul-stirring’. 

Barn Window, The. 
and pleasing. 


Rural, tender, 


Bells of Shandon, The. Good for 
vocal training. 
Blacksmith’s Story, The. A touch- 


ing story of the Rebellion. 

Black Ranald. An heroic love story. 

Buck Fanshaw’s Funeral, by Mark 
Twain. Frontier life. Humorous. 

Cassius and Czsar, Hamlet’s Solil- 
equy, Wolsey’s Fall. Shakespeare. 
Three favorites. 

Christmas Carol, A. For Christmas. 
Darius Green and His Flying Ma- 
chine. Rustic. Mirth-provoking. 
Bva’s Death. From ‘ Uncle Tom’s 

Cabin,” Very affecting. 

Excelsior, Old Clock on the Stairs, 
The, by H. W. Longfellow. Popu- 
lar favorites. 

Hezekiah Bedott- Rustic dialect. Hu- 
morous. 

How Mr. Coville Counted the Shin- 
gles. Very funny. 

Kentucky Philosophy. Sometimes 
called the ‘‘Watermillion Story.’’ 
Negro dialect. 

Siberty and Unton, by Daniel Web- 
ater. Patriotic. 


Grave. For Decoration Day. Very 
touching. 
Lechinvar’s Ride. Heroic. Gallant. 


Mark Twain and the Interviewer. 
prea abst ae 
May Queen, The. Very peeai < 
Miss Maloney on the Chinese Ques. 
tion. Rich Irish humor. 
Month of Mars, The. Beautiful pio 
turing. ‘ 
New Church Organ, The, by Will 
Carleton. Spinster characterization, 
New Year’s Address, Elevating. 
Old Man in the Model Church, The. 
Touching characterization. cig 
Over the Hill to the Poorhouse, by 
Will Carieton. Very pathetic. 
Polish Boy, The. Intensely dramatic. 
Puzzled Dutchman, The. Humorous. 
Red Jacket, The. A thrilling rescue 
from fire. 
Rum’s Maniac. 
ance piece. 
Schneider Sees ‘‘ Leah.’’ Very amus« 


Dramatic tempers 


ing. : 
Socrates Snooks. Female equality 
emphasized. Humorous, 4 
Soldier’s Reprieve, The. A touching 
story of President Lincoln’s kindness, 
Spanish Armada, The, by T. B. Ma- 
caulay. Dramatic description. 


Washington as a Civilian. For 
Washington’s Birthday. 
Yarn of the Nancy Bell, The. Hun» 


“rous sea tale. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—ho. 3 


Adoon the Lane. Scotch humor. 
American Flag, The. Patriotic. 
Bardell and Pickwick, by Charles 
Dickens. The famous trial scene. 
Baron’s Last Banquet, The. 
matic. 
Battle of Beal an’ Duine, The, by Sir 
Walter Scott. A strong war poem. 
Charlie Machree. Exciting. 
Claudius and Cynthia. Very thrilling. 
Closing Year, The. Lofty and im- 
pressive. : 
Dutchman’s Serenade, The. Humor- 
ous. 
Eagle’s Rock, The. Dramatic. 
Florentine Juliet, A; From Exile; 
The Gladiator. Allstrongly dramatic. 
Good-night, Papa. A touching tem- 
perance piece. 
Haunted House, The. A stirring ghost 


story. 

if I Should Die Toenight. A Sunday- 
school piece. 

Inquiry, The. Popular. 

Jack and Gili. Humorous. 

Kit Carson’s Ride, by Joaquin Miller. 
A stirring incident of prairie life, 

Kitchen Clock, The. Humorous and 
very popular. 

Laughin’ in Meetin’, by Harriet 
Beecher Stowe. Humorous, suited to 
church occasions. 

Licensed to Sell; or, Little Blossom. 
Temperance. 


Dra- 


Lines to Bary Jade. Humorous. 

Maud Muller, by John G. Whittier, 
Always popular. 

National Monument to Washington. 
Suited to Washington’s Birthday. 

Olid Forsaken Schoolhouse, The. 
Reminiscent. 

Painter of Seville, The. Very popular. 

Parrhasius and the Captive, by N. P. 
Willis. Highly dramatic. 

Poor Little Jim. A pathetic story of 
the mines. 
Power of Habit, The, by John B. 
Gough. Strong temperance piece. 
Promise, The. Religious. ies 
Reaching the Early Train. Humor \ 
ous. 

Reply to Mr. Corry. A masterpiece of 
oratory. 

Reverie in Church. Humorous. For 
church entertainment. 

Rock of Ages. Contains singing parts. 

Senator’s Dilemma, The. Amusing. 

Three Fishers, The. Pathetic. 

Tom Sawyer’s Love Affair, by Mark 
Twain. Humorous. ‘ 

Vagabonds, The, by J. T. Trowbridge. 
Very popular. 

Waiting for the Children. For thanks- 
giving. 

Wax Work. Humorous. 

Woman, by Alfred Tennyson. A graces 
ful tribute. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—ho. 4 


Angels of Buena Vista, The, by John 
G. Whittier. Very dramatic. 
Annuity, The. Scotch humor. 
Baggage Smasher, The. Humorous. 
Battle of Bunker Hill, The. Patriotic. 
Battle of Lookout Mountain, by 
George H, Boker. Thrilling descrip- 
tion. 
Battle Hymn of the Republic, by Julia 
Ward Howe. Religious. \ 
Black Horse and His Rider, The. A 
stirring patriotic declamation. 

Burning Prairie, The, by Alice Carey. 

~ Dramatic. 

Cause of Temperance, The, by John 
B. Gough: Strong temperance piece. 

Centennial Oration. Eloquent. 

Christmas Sheaf, The. A Norwegian 
Christmas story.’ 

Clarence’s Dream. Intensely dramatic. 

Contentment. Religious, trustful. 

Curfew Must Not Ring To-night. 

- Thrilling. 

Deacon Munroe’s Story. 
characterization. 

Deora, by Alfred Tennyson. A power- 
ful storv. 

Dot Lambs Vot Mary Haf Got. Ger- 
man dialect. 

Faith and Reason. Moral. 

Fire, The. Dramatic. 

Gambler's Wife, The. 
tragic. 


Humorous 


Pathetic and 


ee 


Ghost, The. Quaint Yankee humor. 

Grandmother’s Story. Her account 
of Bunker Hill. 

Great Beef Contract, The, by Mark 
Twain. Intensely humorous, 

Judge Pitman on Various Kinds of 
Weather, by Max Adeler. Humorous, 

Kentucky Belle. A pleasing incident 
of the Civil War. 

Leap Year Wooing, A. Humorous. 

Loye Your Neighbor as Yourself. 
Amusing. 

Maiden’s Last Farewell, The. Hu- 
morous. 

Man’s a Man for a’ That, A, by Rob- 
ert Burns. Scotch dialect. 

Mark Antony Scene. Always popular. 

Modest Wit, A. Humorous, 

Negro Prayer, A. Dialect. 

Ode to the Legislature, by John G. 
Saxe. A fine satirical poem. 
Our Own. Moral and pathetic. 
Rationalistic Chicken, The. 

sophic humor. 


Philoe 


Raven, The. Always popular. 
mere Father Ryan. Deeply spize 
itual. 


Rienzi’s Address. Soul-stirring. 

Tommy Tuft, by Henry Ward Beecher, 
A deeply pathetic religious story. 

Tribute to Washington. For Wasi 
ington’s Birthday. 

Union, The. A patriotic poem. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—o. 5 


ager, The. A humorous parody on 
the ‘‘ ague.”’ : 
Archie m. <A yivacious, coquet- 


tish selection. 

ety Lea. A pleasing old-time court- 
ship. 

Brave at Home, The. A tribute to 
woman. 
Bride of the Greek Isle, by Mrs. He- 
mans. Lofty and dramatic. : 
Budge’s Version of the Flood. Child 
characterization. Very amusing. 
Catiline’s Defiance. Strongly emo- 
tional. 

Centennial Hymn, by John G. Whit- 
tier. Religious and patriotic. 

Course of Love Too Smooth. A hu- 
morous courtship. 

Dedication ef Gettysburg, by Abra- 
ham Lincoln. <A patriotic gem. 

Flood of Years, The, by William Cul- 
len Bryant. A lofty oratorical poem. 

Geod Reading. A tribute to true elo- 
cution. 

Hans and Fritz. Humorous. 

How We Hunted a Mouse. Humor- 


ous. 
John and Tibbie’s Dispute. Scotch 
humor. . 
Last Hymn, The. Exciting. Suited 
for church reading. Parts to be sung. 
Leak in the Dyke, The. Stirring story 
of Holland. 


Lost and Found. A pathetic story af 
the Welsh mines. 

Magdalena; or, The Spanisa Due 
Spirited, mock-heroic, humorous. 

Maiden Martyr, The. A_ touching 
incident. A fine church selection. 

Membranous Croup, by Mark Twain, 
Very funny. 

Only a Baby. For mothers’ meeting. 
Over the Hilis and Far Away, by Miss 
Mulock. A beautiful bit of pathos. 
Prisoner of Chillon, The, by Lord 


Byron. Intensely emotional and dra. 
matic. 

Ready For a Kiss. Child charac. 
terization. 


Samantha Smith Becomes Josiah 
Allen’s Wife. Humorous. 

Scheolmaster’s Guests, The, 
Will Carleton. Humorous. 


mage. Humorous. 


Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, by J. G. Hol- 


land. Temperance. 


Uncle Daniel’s Introduction toa Mis~ _ 


sissippi Steamer. One of the best 
negro dialect selections ever written. 
Vaudois Missionary, The. 
church entertainment. 
Where Is Papa To-night? Tender, 
ht el patriotic, and religious. 
hy Biddy and Pat Married. Irish 
humor, 


— Shoettaker’s Best Selections—ho, 6 


Artemus Ward’s London Lecture. 
Intensely humorous, 

Asleep at the Switch. Thrilling ex- 
perience of a switchman. 

Battie of Ivry, The, by T. B. Ma- 
eaulay. A strong dramatic, historic 


poem. 

Bridge of Sighs, The, by Thomas 
Hood. A pathetic and popular poem. 

Cane-Bottomed Chair, The, by Will- 
iam M. Thackeray. Reminiscent. 

Children’s Hour, The, by H. W. Long- 
fellow. A pretty picture of home life. 

Day at Niagara, A, by Mark Twain. 
Humorous. 

Doctor Marigold, by Charles Dickens. 
Sometimes known as ‘‘ Cheap Jack.” 
Good for characterization. 

Dukite Snake, The. An _ intensely 
dramatic story. 
Easter Morning. 

selection. 

Extract from ‘‘ The Last Days of 
Herculaneum.’’ Fine dramatic de- 
scription. 

Father Phil’s Collection. One of the 
best Irish pieces ever written. 

Getting Under Way, by Mark Twain. 
Humorous. 

Green Mountain Justice, The. A bit 
of rustic humor. 

Jane Conquest. 
great power. 


A fervid Easter 


A dramatic story of 


ing story. 


Little Hatchet Story, The, by R. J. . 


Burdeite. Humorous characteriza 
tion. 
Malibran and the Young Musician 
Intensely interesting and pathetic. 
Miss Edith Helps Things Along. A 
smart child’s pert remarks. 
Nae Luck Aboot the House. Scotch 
dialect. 
Old Sergeant, The. A touching story 
of the Civil War. , 
Oratory, by Henry Ward Beecher. A 
plea for its culture. 


Ride of Jennie McNeal, The, by Will _ 
A stirring story of early 


Carleton. 


Bryant. Introducing bird songs. : 
Satan and the Grog-Seller. <A 
strong temperance Selection. 

Sengs in the Night. A humorous 
sleeping-car incident, 
St. John the Aged. 
pressive. 
Thanksgiving, A. Suited to the day. 
om. A dramatic story of a dog. 
Tribute to East Tennessee. Intensely 
eloquent, 
Valley Forge. Good forteaching. | 


old-time Yankee courtship, 


by 
Swallowing a Fly, by T. De Witt Tal- 


For. 


Little Allie, by Fannie Fern. A touch. 


Spiritually im. 


Ta Lee aye Rha T (ey 64 ne i 
SED Gata Uy, ent a 


days. ME tsk, 
Robert of Lincoln, by William Cullen | 
T 
Ze 


kle, by James Russell Lowell. Ag f 


- Shoemaker’s Best Selections—No. 7 


&ald Rang Syne, by Robert Burns. 
Never grows old. 

Builders, The, by H. W. Longfellow. 
A choice gem. 

Crescent and the Cross, The, by T. B. 
Aldrich. A good church selection. 
Cuddle Doon. A pleasing Scotch home 

sketch. 
Daisy’s Faith. 


iece. 
Death of the Old Year, The, by Alfred 
Tennyson. A good New Year piece. 
Death of the Owd ’Squire, The. A 
stirring, dramatic poem, 
fair Play for Wemen, by George Wil- 
liam Curtis. An eloquent plea, 
Giove and the Lions, The, by Leigh 
Hunt. Dramatic. y 
Gray Honors the Blue, The. Patriotic. 
For Decoration Day. 
Wannah Binding Shoes, by Lucy Lar- 
-com. Asad but pleasing story. 
How Tom Sawyer Whitewashed his 
- Fence, by Mark Twain. Funny. 
Leper, The, by N. P. Willis. Strongly 
ramatic. 
Lighthouse May. A tale of heroism. 
Masters of the Situation, by James T. 
Field, Excellent for teaching. 
Master’s Touch, The. Lofty, spir- 
 itual. 
Milking Time. Rustic humor. 
Mine KRacrine. Dialect. Funny. 


A popular child 


Mont Blanc Before Sunrise, by S. T, 
Coleridge. Sublime description. 

Night Before Christmas, The. & 
lively Christmas selection. 

Night After Christmas, The. A hu» 
morous sequel to the foregoing piece, 

Old Grimes. Mock-serious. 

Old Robin, by J. T. Trowbridge. An 
intensely interesting story. 

Our Traveled Parson, by Will. Carle. 
ton. Humoross and pathetic. 

Owl Critic, The, by James T. Fields, 
Fine humor. 

Paradise. A good Selection for encore, 

Royal Princess, A. A fine dramatie 
poem, _ 

Saving Mission of Infancy, The. In- 
teresting and ee 

Sheriff Thorne, by J, T. Trowbridge. 
An interesting story, showing the in, 
fluence of woman. 

Ship of Faith, The. 
dialect. 

Sister and 1. Passion and pathos. 
Surly Tim’s Trouble. Lancashire 
dialect. Very pathetic and touching, 
That Hired Girl. Humorous. ; 
Tom’s Little Star. Experiences of a 
stage-struck woman. Humorous. 
Voice in the Twilight, The. Suited to 

church or Sunday-school. 
Wounded Soldier, The. Pathetic in- 
cident of a dying soldier. 


Excellent negre _ 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—ho. 3 


After Death, by Edwin Arnold. Spir- 
-itual. Bor church or Sunday-school. 
American Specimen, An, by Mark 
Twain. Humorous. 
Arrow and the Song, The. 


gem. : 
Bald-headed Man, The. Laughable. 
Bay Billy. Suited to Decoration Day. 
Beecher on Eggs. Humorous. 
Better in the Morning. Touching. 
Bessie Kendrick’s Journey. Very 
pathetic story of a bereaved child. 
Carl. A spirited escape from wolves. 
Christmas Carol, A. For Christmas. 
Part to be chanted. 
Coney Island Down der Pay. Very 
funny. 
Defence of Lucknow, The. Stirring. 
Emigrant’s Story, The, by J.T. Trow- 
bridge. Thrilling incident of a prairie 


storm. 

Fire-Bell’s Story, The. A tale of he- 
roism. 

First Quarrel, The, by Tennyson. A 
dramatic and pathetic story. 

Gran’ma Al’as Does. Child dialect. 

Her Letter, by Bret Harte. 
early California. 

How Ruby Played. A humorous 
rustic description of Rubenstein’s 


playing. 
international Episode, An. A good 
encore 


A choice 


Story of 


King’s Missive, The, by John G, 
eh A story of early New Eng- 
and. 

Little Feet. Very pathetic. 

Mrs. MacWilliams and the Light. 
ning, by Mark Twain. Very funny. 

Nations and Humanity, by George 
William Curtis. Oratorical. 

Nebuchadnezzar. Negro dialect. 

Order for a Picture, An, by Alice Ca 
rey. A popular pathetic selection. 

Over the Hill from the Poorhouse, 
by Will Carleton. A sequel to ‘‘ Over 
the Hill to the Poorhouse.”’ 

Practical Young Woman, A. Humor: 


ous, 

Reckoning with the Old Year. A good 
New Year selection. 

Reply to Hayne, by Daniel Webster, 
Oratorical. Good for teaching. 

Rest, by George MacDonald. Suited 
to religious entertainments, 

Scene from ‘‘Leah the Forsaken.’” 
Strongly dramatic. 

Setting a Hen. Rich German dialect. 

Sioux Chief’s Daughter, by Joaquin 
Miller. Very dramatic and popular, 

Tale of the Yorkshire Coast. Dialect 
Pathetic. 

Temperance Question, The, by Wen 
dell Phillips. A vigorous argument 

Vashti, by Julia C. R. Dorr. Vey 
popular. 


ay *h RR ae ait ay 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—ho. 9 


aged Stranger, The. 
Humorous. 

Awtully Lovely Philosophy. 
acterization of a gushing girl. 

Baby’s Kiss. An incident of the Civil 


War. 
Bertha in the Lane. Pleasing pathos. 
Brier Rose. A thrilling Norwegian 


story. 

Child on the Judgment Seat, The. 
Moral and spiritual. 

Christmas Ballad, A. Pathetic and 
stimulating. : 

Connor. A strong, pathetic, popular 
story. 
Fisherman’s Wife, The. 
with a happy ending. 
First Party, The. Humorous and 
musical. 

Horatius at the Bridge, by T. B. 
Macaulay. Heroic. 

Last Prayer of Mary Queen of Scots. 
Regretful yet hopeful. 
Lookout Mountain. German dialect. 
A pathetic incident of the civil war. 
Master Johnny’s Next-door Neigh- 
bor. By Bret Harte. Boy character. 

Mrs. Walker’s Betsey. A graphic 
story of humble life. 

Mrs. Ward’s Visit to the Prince. 
Yankee dialect. Humorous. 

Palace o’' the King, The. Scotch 
dialect. 


By Bret Harte. 
Char- 


A sad story 


Rover’s Petition. By James T. Fielas. 
A good child’s piece. 

Sailing of King Olaf, The. Dramatic, 
elevating, strong. 
Sam’s Letter. Characterization. Very 
funny. 
School Begins To-day. Good boy’s 
piece. 

Selling the Farm. Pathetic. 

Song of the Camp, The. May be 
accompanied with music or song. 

Saint George and the Dragon. Dra 
matic. 

Terpsichore in the Flat Creek Quare 
ters. Plantation fun. 

Then and Now. Humorous. 

Thoughts for a New Year. Eloquent 

Tribute to Washington. Patriotic, 
Suited to Washington’s Birthday. 

Truth of Truths, The. By Ruskin. 
Good for teaching. 

Unnoticed and Unhonored Heroes, 
By Channing. Oratorical. 
White Squall, The. By W.M. Thack- 

eray. Vigorous and humorous. 
Widow and her Son, The. By Wash- 

ington Irving. Pathetic and beautiful, 
William Goetz. Humorous story ofa 


oat. 
ords of Strength. By Schiller. 
The. Dialect, 


Encore. 
Yorkshire Cobbler, 
Temperance piece. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—ito. 10 


Armageddon. By Edwin Arnold. 
Religious. 
Balaklava. A dramatic battle piece. 


Blind Lamb, The. By Celia Thaxter. 
A pleasing child’s story with a moral. 
Caught in the Quicksand. By Vic- 


tor Hugo. Dramatic. 
Chickamauga. For Decoration Day. 
Death of Roland, The. Historic, 
strong. 
Despair. By Tennyson. A dramatic 
story of great power. 
Dick Johnson’s Picture. Temper- 


ance. : 
Drifting. By T. Buchanan Read. 
Musical, pleasing, popular. 
Bulogy on Garfield. By James G. 
Blaine. An eloquent tribute. 
Herve Riel. By Robert Browning. A 
strong dramatic poem. : 
irrepressible Boy, The. Inquisitive- 
ness net always conduciveto comfort. 
samie. Dramatic and strongly pathetic. 
Larrie O’Dee. Irish humor. 


Law of Death, The. By Edwin 
Arnold. Pathetic. : 
Little Dora’s Soliloquy. Child talk. 


Little Rocket’s Christmas. A pathetic 
Christmas story. 
Lost Pound, The. By H. W. Long- 

feiiow. From ‘‘ Evangeline. ”’ 
Mick Tandy’s Revenge. An interest- 
ing and nathetic Irish storv. 


Nay, I'll Stay with the Lad. A touch 
ing tale of the mines. 

Old Year and the New, The. A New 
Year’s selection. 

Phantom Ship, The. By Celia Thaxter, | 
A terrible tale of a slave ship. 

Railway Matinee, A. The perplexities 
of the fat deaf man. 

Rev. Gabe Tucker’s Remarks. Negra 
sermon with a good moral. 

Rizpah. Pathetic. Parts to be sung. 

Schoolmaster Beaten, The. By 
Charles Dickens. Dramatic charac- 
terization. ‘ 

Shriving of Guinevere, The. By S. 
Weir Mitchell. Dramatic and please 


ing. 
Sky, The. By Ruskin. 


Beautifuk \ 
description. ; 


Sympathy. Humorous. 

Tammy’s Prize. A pathetic Scotch 
story. 

Theology in the Quarters. Negro 
dialect. 

Tilghman’s Ride. Patriotic and dra- 
matic. 


To the Survivors of Bunker Hil. 
By Daniel Webster. Patriotic. 
Tragedy, The. A picture of life. 
True Story of Little Boy Blue. & 
leasing child’s selection. 
ayside Inn, The. By Adelaide A 
Proctor. A pleasing, pathetic storm 


ere) CASO YY UPR I Oe 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—ih. n 


Apostrophe to the Ocean, by Byron. 
Superior for vocal training. 

Bobolink, The. Lively and humorous. 
Good for bird-tones. 

Catching the Colt. For voung folks. 

Child Martyr, The. Astory of Scotch 
persecution. 

Clown’s Baby, The. 
tier story. : 

Convict’s Soliloquy, The. Intensely 
dramatic. 

Death of Little Dombey. Pathetic. , 

Dutchman’s Snake, The. Amusing. 

Echo and the Ferry, by Jean Ingelow. 
A beautiful descriptive poem. 

Flash.—The Fireman’s Story, by Will 
Carleton. A humorous story. 

Foxes’ Tails, The; also known as 
Sandy MacDonald’s Signal. Scotch. 
Very amusing. Exceedingly popular. 

Freckled-faced Girl, The. A humor- 
ous characterization of a pert young 


girl. 

Front Gate, The. A humorous story 
as told by the gate. 

Froward Duster, The, by R. J. Bur- 
dette. Very funny. 

Grandmother’s Apology, The, by 
Tennyson. Old lady characterization. 

Jerry. A spirited story of an Irish 
newsboy. 

Lisping Lover, The. Humorous. En- 
core. 


A pleasing fron- 


Little Gottlieb’s Christmas, by Phasbe 
Cary. A German Christmas story. 
Mice at Play. A very amusing story. 
Mona’s Waters. Dramatic and path- 
etic. 

Nicodemus Dodge, by Mark Twain. 
Very funny. 

No Kiss. Retaliation. Encore. 

Old Year and the New, The, by 
Josephine Pollard. For New Year. 
One Flower for Nelly. A touching 

Easter-story. 
Queen Vashti’s Lament. 
passion. 
Rock Me to Sleep. Musical, tender. 
Romance of a Hammock. Clever hua 
mor. 

Shadow of Doom, The. Dramatic. 
Song of the Mystic, by Father Ryan. 
Deeply spiritual and of rare beauty. 

Sunday Fishin’. Dialect, amusing. 

Supposed: Speech of John Adams. 
Patriotic, standard. 

Telephonic Conversation, A, by Mark 
Twain. Very funny. 

Thora. A Norwegian love-story. _ 

Ticket-o’=Leave, by George R. Sims. 
A stirring story. 

Wedding of Shon Maclean. Astirring 
story of a Scotch wedding. 

Where’s Annette? Dramatic,thrilling. 


Pathetic 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections-—No. 12 


Aunty Doleful’s Visit. 
lation. 
Aux Italiens, by Lord Lytton. Singing 
parts. Very popular 
Ballad of Cassandra Brown, The. An 
elocutionary travesty. 
Battie Flag at Shenandoah, The. A 
tale of heroism. 
Bells, The, by Edgar Allen Poe. Ex- 
cellent for vocal drill. ( 
Bells Across the Snow. A short 
Christmas poem. 
Bishop’s Visit, The. A boy’s piece. 
Blind Poet’s Wife, The. Intensely 
interesting. 
Book Canvasser, The. Humorous. 
Brother’s Tribute, A. Lofty patriot- 
_ ism. Dramatic. ; 
Country School, The. A lively school 


scene. 
_Duelist’s Victory, The. A noble re- 


venge. 

Engineer’s Making Love, The, dy 
R. J. Burdette. Courting on the rail. 

Fall of Pemberton Mill, The, by 
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. Unusually 
strong and popular. 

Fefon’s Cell, A. Very dramatic. 

_ Ply’s Cogitations, A. Amusing. 

Good-bye. A feminine good-bye. 

tow Girls Study. Impersonation. 

fHHow the Gospel Came to Jim Oaks. 

~ A tale of Christmas ina mining camp. 


Mock conso- 


Wonders of Genealogy, The. Things 
are somewhat mixed. 
Jesus, Lover of My Soul. Spiritual 


and beautiful. Parts to be sung. 
Jimmy Brown’s Steam Chair. Very 
amusing. 
Lasca. Incident of a Texas cattle 
ranch. Dramatic and pathetic. 
Legend of the Beautiful, by H. W. 
Longfellow. Strongly spiritual. 
Lincoin’s Last Dream. Pathetic. 
Maister and the Bairns, The. Scotch. 
Spiritual. 

Newsboy’s Debt, The. Pathetic and 
touching. 
Old Letters. 

recall. 
Over the Orchard Fence. The old 

farmer’s story. i 
Poor-House Nan. A strong temperance 


Sad memories they 


piece. 

Popular Science Catechism. Humor- 
ous. Explanation of the opera. 

Receiving Calis. Trying experience 
of a minister’s wife. Humorous. 

Santa Claus in the Mines. A touching 
Christmas story. 

Serenade, The. Encore. 

She Cut His Hair. Funny. 

Skeleton’s Story,The. Very dramatic, 

Teddy McGuire and Paddy O’Flynn. 
Irish. Very amusing. 

Ter’ble ’Sperience, A. Negro dialect 

Total Annihilation. Encore. 


_. Wendell Phillips. A noble tribut= 


¢ 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—tho. 13 


ancient Miner’s Story, The, by Will 


Carieton. The emptiness of riches. 
4ristarchus Studies Elocution. Hu- 
morous. 


At Last, by John G. Whittier. Spiritual. 

Aunt Polly’s George Washington. 
Negro dialect; humorous. 

Banford’s Burglar Alarm. Amusing. 

Canada. A tribute to her people. 

Chase, The. Very dramatic, 


. Shild’s Dream of a Star, A. Pathetic. 


Chopper’s Child, Tike, by Alice Cary. 
A wholesome Thanksgiving lesson. 
go et Echo, by John G. Saxe. Hu- 

morous. Affords vocal opportunities, 
Griffith Hammerton. A pathetic and 
stimulating Scotch story. 
4n the Signal Box, by George R. Sims, 
A thrilling and pathetic story of a 
station master, 
JSehoshaphat’s Deliverance. A lofty, 
poetical, and inspiring description. 
Lady Rohesia, The. Amusing, 


Little Quaker Sianer, The. The 
vanity of dress. ' 

Lead the Way. Inspiring. 

Legend of the Organ Builder. One 


of the most popular selections ever 
+ written. 
A 


Let the Angels Ring the Bells. 
ringing Christmas poem. 

Lord Dundreary in the Country. An 

amusing extract. 


' Methodist Class Meeting, A. 


Maritandl. A pleasing love story, — 

Mary’s Night Ride, by George W. 
Cable. Dramatic and very popular, 

** Marry Me, Darlint, To-night.”* 
Irish, humorous, Encore. 

Memorial Day. Patriotic. 

Yorke 

shire dialect. 


Mine Shildren. German dialect. 


Mother and Poet, by Mrs. Browning, - 


Dramatic, pathetic, and popular. 
New Cure for Rheumatism, A, by R. 
J. Burdette. Very amusing. 
Old Continentals, The. Patriotic. 
Old Man Goes to Town, The. An old 
farmer’s pathetic story. 
Only. A good temperance piece. 
Out to Old Aunt Mary’s, by James 
Whitcomb Riley. Very popular. 
Playing School. A child’s piece, Ene 
core. . 


Public Speech. Instructive. 


Regulus to the Carthagenians. Fae 
miliar but always popular. A 
Song of the American Eagle. Patri- 


otic. 


Spring Poet, The. Humorous. 


Two Stammerers, The. Very amusing. St 


Uncle Ben. A spirited child’s story. 
Very pathetic. 
V-a-s-e, The. Very funny. 


Yosemite, The. Asublime description — 


Zaraii. Herote and stirring. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—hho. 14 


Ballad of the Wicked Nephew, by 
James T. Fields. Humorous. 

Battle of Morgarten, by Mrs. He- 
mans. A poem Of Swiss heroism, 

Be a Woman, by Dr. Edward Brooks, 
A.M. On the duty of mothers. 

Bill and Joe, by Oliver Wendell 
Holmes. Pleasing humor, 
Brudder Yerkes’s Sermon. 

dialect. 

Child is Father to the Man, The. 
touching child’s story. Scotch. 
Cow and the Bishop, The. Humorous. 

Culprit, A. Very amusing. 

Daniel Gray, by J. G. Holland. Moral. 

Day is Done, The, by Longfellow. 
Reflective aiid very beautiful. 

Death of Steerforth, The, by Charles 
Dickens. Dramatic. 

Drummer Boy of Mission Ridge, The. 
Patriotic and stirring. 

Finding, of the Crass, The. 
sionary meetings. 

Going for the Cows. 
and sounds. 

ler Laddie’s Picture. Touching. 

Jimmy Brown’s Sister’s Wedding. 
A very amusing boy’s piece. 

June, by James Russell Lowell. Afine 


Negro 
A 


For mis- 


Country sights 


poem. 

~upiter and Ten. Pal hp i Encore. 

King Harold’s Speech to His Army. 
Toc. j 


Life Boat, The. Very pathetic. 
Miserics of War, The. Oratorical. 
Mither’s Knee, A. Scotch. ° 


Money Musk. Description of a Negro 


dance. 
Mother’s Portrait, A. Very pathetic. 
‘*Mearer Home.’’ Tender, spiritual. 
Night Watch, The. Very dramatic. 
Pockets. Good description. 
Romance of the Rocd-Loft, A. 
musical courtship. 
Romance of the Swan’s Nest, The, by 
Mrs. Browning. Pleasing description. 
School Boy on Corns, A. Humorous, 
Second Trial, A. A touching story of 
a little sister’s sympathy and love. 
Sister Agatha’s Ghost. 
ing Yorkshire story. _ 
Smile and the Sigh, The. 
Sweetest Picture, The, 
Cary. Tender and beautiful. 


Encore. 


Tear of Repentance, A. Beautiful 
description. 
Tender Heart, The. Encore. . 


A 


by Alice 


An interest- ~ 


Three Leaves from a Boy’s Diary. 


Amusing, Good boy's piece. 
Victor of Marengo, The. Soul-stirring. 


What We Did with the Cow. Amus- 


ing. 
Widow Cummiskey, The. Sharp 
Irish wit. ; 


Ulysses, by Tennyson. Fine deserip- 


_Hion. 


Shoeiaker’s Best Selections—o. es 


Bachelors, The. Amusing. 
Bartholdi Statue, The. Eloquent. 
Becalmed. A dramatic poem. 
Brave Aunt Katy. Religious. 
{ommerce, by Edward Everett. 
lofty tribute. 
Concord Love Song, A. Encore. 
David’s Lament for Absalom, by N, 
Pp. Willis. Pathetic and popular. 
Death of Jezebel, The. Very dramatic. 
Der Oak und der Vine. German dia- 
leetou; \ 
fading Leaf, The, by Gail Hamilton. 
_ A beautiful description of Nature. 
Fail In! 1860, by George W. Cable. 
- Aspirited description. 
Plag of the Rainbow. Patriotic, 
Grant’s Place in Histery. A high 
tribute. 
Gray Champion, The, by Nathaniel 
- Hawthorne. Historic, interesting. 
Guessing Natiomalities, by Mark 
_ Twain. Exceedingly ciever humor. 
in the Children’s Hospital, by Tenny- 
son. Spiritual and pathetic. 
freland to be Ruled by frishmen, by 
' Wiltiam E. Gladstone. Eloquent. 
Jem’s Last Ride. Exciting. 
‘King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, 
by Tennysen. A lofty, dramatic, and 
athetic extract. 
‘Kiss Deferred, The. A pleasing and 
popular poem. ‘ 


A 


Litthe Foxes, by R. J. Burdette. Aw 
instructive semi-humorous selection. 

Little Maid With Lovers Twain. A 
dilemma. Scotch. 

Lullaby. Forlittlefolks. May besung 
or recited. 

Manhood, by George K. Morris. Ups 
ifting and inspiring. 

Mr. Beecher and the Waifs. A tender 
tribute to the great preacher. 

Mrs. Pickett’s Missionary Box. Fof 
church or missionary meetings. 

Music in Camp; frequently called 
Music on the Rappahannock. An 
incident of the Civil War. 

Old Roundsman’s Story, An. For 
Christmas. f 

Our First Experience with a Watche 
dog, by Frank R. Stockton. Amusing. 

Perfectiy, Awfully, Lovely Story, A: 
An esthetic exaggeration. 

Price of a Drink, The. Temperance. 

She Wanted to Hear it Again. Encore, 

Song for the Conquered, A. Instruct- 
ive and helpful. 

Three Kings, The, by Longfellow. A 
fine Christmas selection. 

Tragedy on Past Participles, A. Am- 
using. For educational meetings. 

Two Runaways, The. Negro dialect. 
Very amusing. 

Watch Night, by Horatius Bonar. Re- 
ligious. New Year’s Eve. 


Shocwiaker’s Best Selections—fho, 16 


festhetic Craze, The. Humorous. 
Back from the War, by T. De Witt 
Talmage. Good for G. A. R. occasions. 
Battle Hymn, The. Lofty, impressive. 
-. Good for teaching. 
Calis. The nature of a ministerial call. 
Amusing. © 
Chariot Race, The, by Lew Wallace. 
From ‘‘Ben Hur.’’ Exciting, popular. 
Christening, The. An amusing mis- 
take in the baptism of a child. 
Cicely Croak. A pleasing story of 
rustic courtship. 

Curse to Labor, The, by T. V. Powder- 
ly. A strong plea for temperance. 
Day of Judgment, The, by Elizabeth 

Stuart Phelps. Anamusing incident. 
Decoration Day. A patriotic tribute. 
Elf Child, The, by.James Whitcomb 

Riley. ‘*The Gobble-uns ’!] Git You.” 


Popular. 
First View of the Heavens. Lofty 
description, 

from the Shore of Eternity. Reflect- 
ive and impressive. 

General Grant’s English, by Mark 
Twain. A stirring vindication. 
Ginevra. Dramatic, thrilling. 

Jimmy Hoy. One of the very best 
of Samuel Lover’s laughable Irish 
stories. 

Legend of the Earth, by Jean Rameau. 
A lofty description of the creation. 


Lily Servoss’s Ride,by fudge Tourgee, 
A thrilling Ku-Klux story. 

Lost Child, The. An exciting poem. 
Message ofthe Dove, The. Aninspir. 
ing Easter story. 
Mourner a la Mode, The, by John G. 

Saxe. An amusing satire. 

New South, The, by H. W. Grady, 
Patriotic, Sag glowing, 

Old Fireptace, The. Pleasing pictures 
of childhood. 

Old Man and Jim; An Old Sweete 
heart of Mine. Twoof James Whit- 
comb Riley’s most popular readings. 

Portrait, The, by Lord Lytton. Very 
dramatic and exceedingly popular. 

Swan Song, The. An exceedingly 
touching and powerful story. 

Tell-Tale Heart, Tise, by Edgar Allen 
Ai, Dramatic confession of a mur- 

er, 

Thanksgiving in Boston Harbor. For 
Thanksgiving Day. 

Topsy’s First Lesson. From ‘“‘ Uncle 
Tom’s Cabin.’’ Very amusing. 

Toussaint L.’Ouverture, by Wendell 
Phillips. An eloquent tribute. 

Two Queens in Westminster. A 
strong, historic poem. 

Uncle, The. Intensely dramatic. 

While We May. Pathetic, tender. 

Wisdom Dearly Purchased, by Ed 
mund Burke. Lofty patriotism. 


eet any Bi ab en ict 


Shoemaker’s Best Sclections—iio. 17 


Army of the Potomac, by Joaquin 
Miller. For G. A. R, meetings. 

Aunt Melissy on Boys, by J. T. 
Trowbridge. A story of intoxicated 
turkeys. 
Aunt Sylvia’s First Lesson in Geo- 
graphy. Amusing. Negro dialect. 
Boat Race, The. A spirited descrip- 
tion. The girls’ crew wins. 

Courting and Science. For teachers’ 
meetings. Humorous. 

Dead om the Field of Honor. Lofty 
description. 

Easter Morning, by Henry Ward 
Beecher. Eastertide selection. 

First Thanksgiving, The. A ringing, 
musical poem. 

Garfield Statue, The, by Grover Cleve- 
land. An eloquent tribute. 

Heavenly Guest, The, by Celia Thax- 
ter. A poem for church occasions. 

How We Fought the Fire, by Will 
Carleton. Amusing. 

Inge, the Boy King. 

' story of ancient Norway. 

Jimmy Brown’s Prompt Obedience. . 
Very funny. 

John Burns, of Gettysburg, by Bret 
Harte. Patriotic, yet amusing. 

Land of Thus-and-So, The, by James 
Whitcomb Riley. For little folks. 

Legend of Rabbi Ben Levi, The, by 
Longfellow. A beautiful legend. 


Shoemaker’s Best 


Absolution, by E. Nesbit. An excep- 
tionally strong and popular poem. 

Abigail Fisher. Rustic dialect. 

Appeal for Temperance, by Henry W. 
Grady. An eloquent address. 

At the Stage Door. Touching kind- 
ness of an actress. 

Auctioneer’s Gift, The. A short, af- 
fecting story. 

Bad Boy’s Diary, A. He would be a 
ohh Ae 

Blind Man’s Testimony, The. A short 
Scripture story. 

@harity Grinder and the Postmaster- 
General. A humorous mistake. 

Cowboy’s Sermon, The. Some Scrip- 
ture truths plainly stated. 

Come and be Shone. Humorous ac- 
count of a lively bootblack. 

Daniel Periton’s Ride, by Albion W. 
Tourgee. A thrilling incident. 

Defence of the Bride, The. A strong 
dramatic story. 

Death Bridge of the Tay, The, by 


A dramatic 


Will Carleton, A stirring story. 
famished Heart, A. A story worth 
repeating. 


Gets Dhere, by Charles Follen Adams. 
Homely truths in German dialect. 

tow Ben Fargo’s Claim was Jumped. 
An interesting frontier incident. _ 

iy ordered & popular bit of Scotch dia- 


Lexington, by Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
A stirring, lofty, and patriotic poem, 

Little Match Girl, The. A touching 
Christmas story for children. 

Lord Dundreary’s Riddles. Drolf 
humor. Dude imitation. 

Lost. An_ intensely strong and 
dramatic temperance Selection. 

Low-backed Car, The. By Samued 
Lover. Humorous and musical. 

Minuet, The. Introducing the minuet 
step. Very popular. 

Miss Witchhazel and Mr. Thistlepad 
by R. J. Burdette. How a city gir! 
learned to farm. 

Monk’s Magnificat, The. Introducing 
a chant. Lofty and spiritual. 

Mother-in-Law, The, by Ella Wheeler 
Wilcox. The bitterness of love. 

Mr. Brown Has His Hair Cut. Avery 
amusing and popular piece. 


Nurse Winnie Goes Shopping. Irish 
dialect. Humorous, 
Ride of Collins Graves, The. Thrill- 


ing incident of a bursting dam. 
Rover in Church. A pleasing story 

for children. 
Sent Back by the Angels. Pathetic. 
Usual Way, The. A good encore. 
Walpole’s Attack on Pitt. Oratorical. 
What is a Minority? by John B. 

Gough. Eloquent. 
Wild Night at Sea, A. 


Selections—ho. 18 


Little Charlie’s Christmas. A path. 
etic Christinas story. 

Nathan Hale, the Martyr Spy. A 
dramatic incident of the Revolution. 

New Series of Census Questions. ' 
Humorous. 

Noses. A boy’scomposition. Amusing. 

O’Grady’s Goat. Irish dialect. Hu- 
morous. 

Packet of.Letters, A. Clever humor. 

Pilgrims, The, by Chauncey M. Depew. 
A tribute to the New England fathers, 

She Liked Him Rale Weel. Pleasing 
Scotch dialect. 

Squarest Un Among ’Em, The. A 
touching newsboy’s story. 


Dramatic. 


St. Martin and the Beggar, by 
Margaret E. Sangster. For Sunday- 
schools. 


Tastes, by James Whitcomb ~ Riley. 
Rustic humor. Encore. 

Timothy Horn. His unique courtship. 

Tobe’s Monument. One of the most 
pathetic and popular stories evet 
written. 

Two Christmas Eves, by E. Nesbit. 
A dramatic and pathetic poem. 

Volunteer Organist, The, by S. W. 
Foss. Rustic, pathetic, and popular. — 

Wanted to See His Old Home. Affect- 
ing story of an old negro. 

Whistling Resiaeat The. An ig- 
cident of the Civil War. Popular. 


~ 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—lio, 19 


Address to the Toothache, by Robert 
Burns. Humorous Scotch dialect. 
Ballad of the Wayfarer, by Robert 
Buchanan. Pathetic and pleasing. 

Beware, by Longfellow. Encore. 

Bridget O’Flanagan. Irish humor. 

Cold, Hard Cash. Encore. 

Courting in Kentucky. Rustic, hu- 
morous, taking. 

Divided, by Jean Ingelow. A beauti- 
ful and pathetic descriptive poem. 

Doctor’s Story, The. Amusing. 

Dream of Fair Women, A, by 
Tennyson. Fine description. 

Brop of Water, The. Very dramatic. 

Dumb Savior, The. A powerful tem- 
perance story. 

Getting On. An old man's reveries. 

Glacier Bed, The. A thrilling story of 
an Alpine guide. 

Her Laugh—In Four Fits. Encore. 

How Uncle Podger Hung a Picture, 
by Jerome K. Jerome. Very laugh- 
able. 

Jacqueminot-Rose Sunday. A pleas- 
ing hospital incident. 


_ Joe Sieg. A story of anheroic railroad 


Lest Lesson, 


Billy. 


' Josiar. 


engineer. 
Lady of Shalott, The, by Tennyson. 
Popular with the best readers. 
The. A_ touching 
school scene. 


Lecture by the New Male Star. Ef 
forts of a female reporter. Humorous, 

Mary Alice Smith, by James Whit- 
comb Riley, A quaint story, 

Midnight in London. Vivid descrip- 
tion of the great city by gaslight. 

Mother’s Mending Basket. A de 
lightful home picture. 

Oh, the Golden, Glowing Morning! 
For Easter day. 

Queer Boy, A. Humorous. 

Reuben James. A tribute to the 
courage of a sailor, 

Siege of the Alamo. Patriotic. 

Summerset Folks, The. Encore. 

Swipesey’s Christmas Dinner. How 
the newsboys ‘‘chipped in.”’ 

Toboggan Slide, The. An embarrass: 
ing Situation. 

Tola of Mustard Seed, The, by Sit 
Edwin Arnold. Asad but beautiful 
lesson. 

Tragedy in the Sunshine, A. 
matic. 

Tray. An interesting story of a dog’s 
brave deed. 

True Bostonian at Heaven’s Gate, A, 
Encore. 

Twilight at Nazareth. 
tion. 

War-hern of the Elfings, by William 
Morris. Beautiful description. 


Drae 


Fine descrip- 


 Shoemaker’s Best Selections—to. 20 


All Things Shall Pass Away. An 
interesting Persian tale. 

Aunt Phillis’s Guest. Spiritual.” 

Who wasn’t good like his 

brother Daniel. 

ove Wanted. A good piece for boys. 

ridget’s Soliloquy. Dialect. En- 

tertaining. > 

Casualty, A. Touching story of a 
bootblack. 

Condensed Telegram, The. Humor. 

Coaching the Rising Star, A strik- 
ing lesson in dramatic elocution. 


Docter’s Story, The, by Bret Harte. 


A touching incident of the Civil War. 
Early Start, An. A minister’s pro- 
gram not completely carried out. 
Elopement in '75. A stirring love 
story of the Revolution. 
Fortunes of War, The. 
of the Civil War. 
Following the Advice of a Physician. 
Very amusing. 
Getting Acquainted. Encore. 
He Werried About It, by S. W. Foss. 


A sad story 


Droll humor. 
Hulle. Cheering. Very popular. 
i Willi Not Leave You Comfortles. 


A pathetic tale of mountain life. 
Country courtship. Encore. 
Judy 0’ Shea Sees Hamlet. She de- 
scribes the play in true Irish fashion. 
Little Margery. 
and trust. ee 


Childhood's faith \ 


Little Busy Bees. How they gathef 
honey at a church fair. 

Me and Jim. Rustic characterization; 
pathetic, strong. 

Millais’s ‘‘Huguenots.’’ A pathetic 
love story of the eve of St. Bartholo- 


mew. 

DauERry, Kitty Clover. For little 
girls, 

Not in the Programme. An affecting 
incident in the life of an actress, 

Obstructive Hat in the Pit. 
amusing. 

Perfect Wife, The. A valuable lessen, 
Suited for church fairs. 

Poor Rule, A. Encore. 

Rajput Nurse, A, by Edwin Arnold 
A thrilling Eastern story. 

Riding on a Rail. Amusing incidents — 
on a train. 

Skimpsey. A thrilling and pathetic 
story of a horse jockey. 

Song of the Market Place. A power- 
ful picture of poverty, pity, music, 
and charity. 

Tale of Sweethearts, A, by George R. 


Very 


eyes A thrilling heart story. Dia- 
ect. 
Their First Spat. A young couple's 


first quarrel. Humorous. 

Uncle Neah’s Ghost. How he searched 
for and feund it. Amusing. 
Wedding, The, by Seuthey The 

dark side of the picture, 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—Ro. 21 


abies, by Jerome K. Jerome. Humor- 
ous. 

Because. Encore. 

Benediction, The, by Francois Coppée. 
A strong poem introducing a chant. 

thed, The, by Rudyard Kipling. 

Difficulty of choosing. Humorous. 

Bridal of Malahide, The. Heroic and 

athetic. 

Clive, by Robert Browning. Very dra- 
matic and exceedingly popular. 

Contentment. Reflections of a lazy 


man. 

Crossing the Bar, by Tennyson. One 
of his latest and most beautiful poems. 

Cry in the Darkness, The—The Sen- 
tinel’s Alarm. A story of Indian 
treachery. Bde 

BDeacen’s Downfall, The. How he 

- Was converted by a sweet soprano. 

Dreamin’ o’ Home. Pathetic. 

Emergency, An. A kind heart often 
found under a coarse coat. 

Flag at Shenandoah, The, by Joaquin 
Miller. Faithful unto death. 

H’anthem, The. Encore. 

Herod. Highly dramatic. 

fer Perfect Lover. Encore. 

italian’s Views of the Labor Ques= 

tion. Dialect. Humorous. 

Lydia’s Ride. An incident of the Brit- 
ish occupation of Philadelphia. 

Men at Gloucester. Dramatic rescue 
of men at sea. 


Shoemaker’s Best 


Ah Yet’sChristmas. Apatheticstory 
of a little Chinese boy. 
-Big Enough Family, A. 
S opinion of babies. 
By the Alma. Astory of Scotch hero- 


ism, 
Deacon’s Week, The. Good for Mis- 
sionary occasions. 
®aster with Parepa, An. 
fully pathetic Easter story. 
Fallin. For G. A. R. occasions. 
Pate of Sir John Franklin, The. A 
pathetic poem of Arctic adventure. 
Gowk’s Errant and What Cam’0Q’t,A. 
A very amusing’ story done in Scotch. 
Hagar. A dramatic picture of the de- 
parture of Hagar from Abraham’s tent. 
Hilda. A strong story of the power of 
a woman’s love. 
Hilda’s Little 
Hjorth Boyeson. 


A little boy’s ° 


A power- 


Hood, by Hjalmer 
A pleasing poem. 


His Sister. Encore. 

Hunt, The. A svirited description. 

Joan of Arc’s Farewell. Lofty and 
pathetic. 


jock Johnston, the Tinkler. 
of love and chivalry. 

Leap-year Mishaps. As told by an 
old maid. 

Little Black Phil. A touching incident 
of the Civil War. 

Lost Paroy. The. 


A story 


Ahumorous poem, 


LOUGH IRE, 


Napoleon’s Advice to an Actor. A 
hint to readers and actors. 


y 


Old Canteen, The. A mother’s story — 


of her two sons who took opposite 
sides in the war. 


Old Vote tor ‘‘ Young Marster, ’’ An. 


A good story. 

Overboard. 
man washed overboard at sea. 

Papa Was Stumped. He couldn’t du 
fractions. 

Puzzle, A. Encore. 

Revenge, The, by Tennyson. An he- 
roic sea-fight. 1 

Seaweed. A beautiful fanciful poem. 

Sir Hugo’s Choice. A strong story of 
love and duty. , 

Sisterly Scheme, A. How a young 
girl supplanted her oldersister. Very 


popular. 
St. Patrick’s Day. Irish dialect. 
Stranded Bugle, The. A pleasing, 
fanciful poem, 
Thar Was Jim. Pathetic. 


Negro dialect. 


Pathetic description of a — 


That Sugar-Plum Tree. Forchildren. — 


Two Gentlemen of Kentucky. 
negro characterization. 

Uncertain Pledge, An. Encore. 

Unregistered Record, An. 
jockey’s story of a mad race. 

What Else Could He Do? Encore. 


Winnie’s Welcome. A jolly Irish piece. — 


Woman’s Career. Clever humor, 
Worse than Marriage. Encore. 


Selections—ho. 22 


Marguerite. 
Pathetic and tender. 


Fine 


A negro : 


For Decoration Day. i 


Mr. Kris Kringle, by Dr. S. Weir Mit- 


chell. A touching Christmas story. | 
Mr. Potts’ Story, by Max Adeler. Mrs. 


Potts curbs her husband’stendencyte — 


exaggeration. 
My Double and How He Undid Me, by 
Edward Everett Hale. Humorous. 
Mysterious Portrait, The. 
My Vesper Song. Parts to be sung. 
Not Ashamed of Ridicule. An excek 
lent boy’s story. Sean 
Old Wife, The. Pathetic. 
On the Other Train. Very pathetic 
and popular. " 
Rural Infelicity. Amusing. 
Scallywag. Teaches a good lesson. 
Soul of the Violin. 


story of an old musician. f 

Teacher’s Diadem, The. Appropriate 
for Sabbath-schools. 

Teaching a Sunday-school Class. A 
young lawyer’s first experience. 
morous. 

Them Oxen. Great-grandmother’s 
story of how the oxen drew two hearts 
together. 

Wind and the Moon, The, by George 
MacDonald. For Children. 

Work, Work Away. Instructive and 


Hu- / 


x 


= 
rs 


Amusing. | 


A strong, pathetic _ 


4 See tee 
ve ee 


a 


GSenefits of the Constitution, 


- Dead Pussy Cat, The. 


- Execution of Andre. 


_ Battle of Zaraila, by Ouida. 


devia of Brookline, The. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—No. 23 


How they 

announced the end of the Civil Ash. 
¥: 

Daniel Webster. Oratorical and pa- 
triotic. 

Busy. A bad spell and its results. 

Chickadee, The. For children. Oppor- 
tunity for bird notes. 

Close of the Battle of Waterloo, 
by Victor Hugo. Full of dramatic 
power. 

fount Gismond, by Robert Browning. 
Dramatic and chivalric. 

Dance of Death, The, by Sir Walter 

Scott. A weird battle description. 


Child charac- 
Earl Sigurd’s Christmas Eve. A 
spirited Norse Christmas story. 
aster Eve'at Kerak-Moab. A thrill- 
ing and dramatic Easter tale. 
Vivid descrip- 


terization. 


tion. 

Execution of Sydney Carton, by 
Charies Dickens. An intensely dra- 
matic story of the French Revolution. 


How We Kept the Day, by Will 


Carleton. For 4th of July. Humor- 
‘ous, rollicking. 

influence of Great Actions, The, by 
Daniel Webster. Instructive eloquent. 

Jimmy Brown’s Attempt t» Produce 


. FPreckies. Very amusing, 
y £ 


Literary Nightmare, A, by Magk 
Twain. Very funny and very popular, 

My Fountain Pen, by Robert J. 
Burdette. Most amusing. 

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep. A 
beautiful paraphrase. 

Owyhee Jce’s Story. A tale of the 
Wild West. 

Pheebe’s Exploit. 
saved a train. 

Saunders McGlashan’s Courtship. 
Avery popular piece of Scotch humor, 

Saved by a Boy. Teaches a lesson 
of honesty. For little folks. 

Tommy’s Dead. Pathetic, 
True Eloquence. A fine definition. | 
Used=to-be, The, by James Whitcomb 
Riley. A quaint and fanciful poem, 
Warwick, the King Maker, by Lord 
Lytton. Historic and dramatic. 

When de Darkey am a-Whistlin’ in 
de Co’n. A plantation song. 

What Miss Edith Saw from Her 
Window. Humorous. 

When I Wasa Boy, by Eugene Field, 
Pleasing memories of boyhood. 

When the Light Goes Out. Whole 
seme advice in pleasing doses. 

Whirling Wheel, The. Cheer tothe 
heavy laden. ‘ 

Wreck of ‘‘The Northern Belle,“ 
by Edwin Arnold. <A tale of the 
treacherous sea. Dramatic. 


How a little girl 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—tic. 24 


art of Bookkeeping, The, by Thomas 


Hood. A humorous and exceedingly 
ingenious play upon words. 


_ Ballad of Beau Brocade, The. Ancient 


tale of highwaymen of the last cen- 
tury. ; 


_ Battie of Bannockburn, The. Vivid 


description. 

A thrill- 
ing picture. 

Black Zeph’s Pard. 
Pathetic. 

Change of Heart, A. Encore. 

Colored Philosophy. Negro dialect. 
Humorous. 


A miner’s tale. 


- Constantius and the Lion, by George 


Croly. Dramatic and thrilling. 
Courting of T’nowhead’s Geil, The. 
An amusing Scotch prose piece, 


Crime Revealed by Conscience, by 


Daniel Webster. Oratorical. 

Death of Carver Doon, The, by R. D. 
Blackmore. Very dramatie. 

Sxecution of Lady De Winter, by 
Alexander Dumas. A gruesome tale, 
Fereign Views of the Statue. 
Thoughtssuggestedtothe immigrants 
on first seeing Bartholdi’s statue. 
Amusing and very popular. 


~ fetting the Right Start. py J. G. Hor 


land. Excellent adviceto voung men. 
Mow the La Rue Stakes Were Lost. 
A touching and thrilling stavy of the 
rescue of a child from unde: the 
Sorses’ feet 


| 
| 


Incident of the French Camp, An 
Pathetic and dramatic. 

John Brown’s Body. 
the Civil War. 

Mammy Gets the Boy to Sleep, 
Ne¢ro dialect. Amusing. 

Miss Eva’s Visit to the Ogre. A 
very pleasing story for children. 

Murder of Nancy Sykes, The, by 
Charles Dickens. Highly dramatic. 

One-legged Goose, The. A _ plan-~ 
tation story, Exceedingly funny. 

Organ-tempest of Lucerne, The 
A beautiful description, 

Point Sublime, Colerado Cation. 
Lofty aud impressive description. 

Rock-a-by Lady, The. Eugene Field, 
A pleasing song for little folks. 

School-boys’ Strike, by R. J. Bur. 
dette. Very amusing. 

Seein’ Things, by Eugene Field. Bede 
time experiences. 

Spelling Bee at Angel’s, by Bret 
Harte. 
spelling bee. . 

Strike at Colchester, The. How the 
women went on a strike—and how 
they returned. Amusing. 

Tribute to Cur Honored Dead, A, by 
H. W. Beecher, Oratoricai. 

Washington’s Address to His Treops. 
Patriotic and inspiring. 

When Summer Says Gooa-bv. Rok 

_Jicking humor, Neere dialect. 


An incident of 


Incidents attending a frontier — 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—To. 25 


Ape and the Thinker, The. Hum- 
orous. ; 
Back in War Days. An inspiring 

story for Decoration Day. 
Calf Path, The. Amusing and sug- 
gestive. 
Chrysanthemum, The. 


mor. 

Caba Libre, by Joaquin Miller. Spain’s 

' eruelty and injustice set forth. 

@eath of Robespierre, by George 

‘ Lippard. Dramatic and realistic. 

Belayed in Transmission. How an 
unruly tongue blocked an important 
message. 

Dr. Lanyon’s Narrative. Dramatic 
extract from Dr. Jekyland Mr. Hyde. 

Execution, The. An exciting story of 
My Lord Tomnoddy. Humorous. 

Extendin™ Credit. Encore. 

Fiddle Tuld, The. A touching story 
of a convict’s liberation. 

Fight with the Aurochs, The. A 
thrilling tale of cruelty, heroism, 
and love, from ‘‘ Quo Vadis.” 

Finnigin to Flannigan. An exceed- 
ingly clever bit of Irish humor. 

From the Valley o’ the Shadder. 
Affection for a kitten and its conse- 
quences. 

Grand Advance, The. 
dent of the Civil War. 

&@ Understood. Encore 


Clever hu- 


Heroic inci- 


How June Found Massa Linkam, 
very pathetic piece. 

I Go Fishin’. Humorous. 

King’s Decree, The. Norseland 
chivalry. A fine poem. 

Little Bugler’s Alarm, The. &A 


touching story of the Kaffir War. 
Little Visitor, A. For young folks. 
My Last Duchess, by Robert Browne 
ing. A strong narrative poem. 


Night, by Jerome K. Jerome. Beauti- 
ful description. 
Offering for Cuba, An. A tale af 


Spanish cruelty. 


_Napoleon Bonaparte and Touissant 


L’Ouverture. 
tion. 
’Ostler Joe, by George R. Sims. A 
story of unfaltering love. 
Practical Regeneration. An excellent 
church selection. 
Recessional, by Rudyard Kipling. A 
beautiful spiritual poem. 


A strong prose selec- 


Rizpah, by Tennyson. Strongly drae 
matic. 

Settin’ up with Peg McKeag. — 
From “The Latimers.”? Clever Scotek 


humor for church occasions. 
Stop Yer Kickin’. Full of cheer. 
What’s the Difference ? Encore. nt 
Widow Mysie, The, by Robert But 
anan. A fine piece of humor. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections—ho. 26 


After the Fourth of July. Young 
America’s appreciation of Independ- 
ence Day. 

Avalanche of Drugs, An. Very hu- 
morous, 

Baitle of Dundee, The. A humorous 
incident of the Boer War. 

Battie of Manila. A vivid poetic de- 
scription, 

Billy, He’s in Trouble. Droll humor. 

Black Death of Bergen, The, by Lord 
Dufferin. A wierd Norse tale. 

Bull of Bashan, A. Dramatic story of 
a Mexican rancher. 

@avalry Charge, The. 

+. martial poem. 

Corporal Dick’s Promotion, by Conan 
Doyle. Intensely dramatic and pa- 
thetic. 

Dave. Flint’s Temptation. A strong 
temperance story. Scotch dialect. 

Smir’s Game of Chess, The. A strong 

} oriental tale. 

Bvery-day Case, An. A pathetic story 
of real life. 

Happy Farmer, The. Droll humor. 

Hew Christmas Came to Crappy 
Shute. Heroic and pathetic story 
of a newsboy. 

giow the Captain Saved the Day. 
Patriotic and pathetic 

tlew they Stopped the Run, by An- 
thony Hope. Exciting run opa bank. 


A stirring 


His Finish. A good golf scory. 

Indian Attack, The. A thrilling rescue, 
I Vunder Vy ? German humor. 3 
Lucky Jim. A convict’s sad expefi 


ence. 
Luilaby, by Paul Lawrence Dunbar, 


Sleep song, Negro dialect. 
Mission of a Song, The. Descriptive, 
religious, tender. 
My Sweetheart. 
Ole Mistis. 
story of the race track. 


Pleasing. 


A pathetic and thrilling — 


ae pe 


Organist, The. Impressive and touch. — 


ing. 

Reasonable Doubt, A. In which a 
juryman discovers that a long-lost son 
is being tried for his life. 

Ride by Night, The. A thrilling story 
of the Civil War. 

Rock and the Sea, The. Eloquent dee 
scription. 

Story the Doctor Told, The. A strong 
tale of a mother’s self-sacrifice. 
Sunset, by Shelley. Asublime descrip- 

tion. 

Thanksgiving Guest, The. Astrong, 
pathetic Thanksgiving story. 

That ‘‘ Fellow ’’ Who Came on Sane 


morous 


dayt.. Humorous. Encore. 
When de Co’n Pone’s Hot. Bright 

and cheery. Dialect. 7a 
When Pa Begins te Shave. Mw 


A 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 27 


&t the Teiephone. The feminine side 
of a delicious cenversation. 

@elinda’s Shopping. Encore. | 

Britannia to Columbia. Anglo-Ameri- 
can friendship expressed in verse, by 
Britain’s Poet-Laureate. 

@rother Peasley’s Mistake, Mono- 
logue. Funny all through, but espe- 
cially at the clase. 

ssional, The. How a woman’s 
love turned to hate. Strong, drama- 
tic verse.“ Much in demand. 

€y Pringle’s Detective Experience. 

_ Rustic humor, with a quaint cli- 

Dat Time Honey Got Los’. N 

| me Honey Go 8’, Negro 
dialect. Unusually funny. 

@oil’s Funeral, The. Told bya child. 
Very touching. 

sive Ten-Dollar Bill, The. Funny 
story of a farmer and a typewriter. 
lagging of the Cannon Ball, The. 
A railroad story, with a strong 
climax. _ 

Gift He Got from Mose, by Will Car- 
leton. Tells of the curing of a mean 


man, 

Going of the White Swan, The. A 
Canadian incident in Sir Gilbert Par- 
ker’s strong style. Very popular. 
low Uncle Brewster Was Too Shifty 
for the Tempter. One of George 
Adc’s inimitable fables. 


Hunchback Pollie. A cireus 

athetic story. 

if 1 Can Be By Her. Stuttering verea, 
Very novel and laugh provoking. 

Leetia Humpy Jeem. Tealias dialect. 
Pathetic. 

Love of Berenice, The. 
Barrett’s 
Powerful. 

Making of An Outlaw, The, by S. R. 
Crockett. Tragedy rarely well done 

Mrs. Casey at the Euchre Party 
Side-splitting Irish monologue. 

Mrs. Puffer’s Silver Wedding. Eg 
ceptional monologue. 

Old Rooter, The. Base ball verse, 
Strikes a popular chord. Resembles 
** Casey at the Bat.” 

One-Eye Pete Neaffie’s Parrot. How 
a wicked parrot got religion. 

Qhporenaity Speaks. Eccentrie 
poetry, but full of meat. 

Peach Pie. Humorous prose encore, 

Retort Dis=Courteous, The. 

Irish wit in verse. 

Sary Emma’s Photographs, The 
‘* camera fiend ’? in humorous verse. 

Song for Bed=-Time, A. Lullaby 
verses, full of sentiment. 

Stubby’s Bouquet. Pathetic bit @ 
slum life. 

Unprofitable Servant, An. The 
touching story of an everyday here, 


From Wil: 
“Sign of the Cross. 


Best Thingy from Best Author.r 


Volumey I to 9 Now [Issued 


Each volume is composed of tnree numbers of Shoemaker» 


Best Selections, in the order of their issue. 


They are so arranged with 


indexes and classifications of selections, authors, etc., as to make thig 


the best collection of choice readings ever published. 


These volumes 


are not only valuable for reading and recitation purposes, and for use. 
as school readers, but containing as they do the best productions from 
the most prominent English and American authors, they are a veritabie 


encyclopedia of literature. 


They are a smali library in themselvea, 


and as such will prove a most desirable addition to any collection. 


fI2SPECIAL.—For a limited time we are offering the full set of ning 
volumes, put up in a neat and durable box, 


” 


“sntettainuiont Books for Youngs eupae 
Paper 40 Cents. Cloth $1.00. 


Choice Humor 
By Charles C. Shoemaker 


or Reading and Recitation 

Yo prepare a book of humor that shall be free from anything 
Skat is coarse or vulgar on the one hand, and avoid what is fiat and 
insipid on the other, is the difficult task which the compiler set for 
himself, and which he has successfully accomplished. The book 
has been prepared with the utmost care, and it will be found ag 
interesting and attractive for private reading as itis valuable ror 
oublic entertainment, ; 


Choice Dialect 
By Charles C. Shoemaker 


For Reading and Recitation 
This book will be found to contain a rare and valuable colles 


fion of Irish, German, Scotch, French, Negro, and other dialecrs, | 


and to represent every phase of sentiment from the keenest humor 
or the tenderest pathos to that which is strongly dramatic. lt 
aitords to the amateur reader and the professional elocutionist the 
largest scope for his vavied abilities, and is entirely free from 9" 
thing that would offend the most refined taste. 


Choice Dialogues 
By Mrs. J. W. Shoemaker 


Fer School and Social Entertainment 


kimsarely new and original. The topics have beer arranged on & 
eo»mprehensive plan, with reference to securing the greatest possi- 
vie variety, and the matter has been specially prepared by a corps 
st able writers, their aim being to secure loftiness of conception, 
ourity of tone, and adaptability to the needs of amateurs. Itisan 


all-round dialogue book, being suited to children and adults, and’ 


te Sunday-schools and day-schools. It is conceded to be one of the 
best dialogue books in print. 


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“Ealtertainment Rooks tor ronny Covi « 
Paper 40 Cents. Cloth $1.00. 
. __@ @ 
Comic Dialogues 
By John R. Denis 

Whis is the something ‘‘real funny,” which every boy and girl 
prefers but there is nothing coarse in it. It is suitable for school or 
church nse anywhere. The dialogues are arranged for from two toa 
dozen or more children. A few, like ‘‘ Vilikens”’ and “* The Head 
- Jess Horseman,’’ employ music. ‘‘Our Lysander’’ is a real little 
play. Some ofthe dialoguesare: Innocents Abroad, Artist’s Dream, 


Aunt Dmah and Columbus, Taking the Census, Strictly Confiden. 
tial, ete. c 


Humorous Dialogues and Dramas 
By Charles C. Shoemaker 


if there is anything more enjoyable than a humorous reading or 
vecitation it is a keen, pointed, humorous dialogue. The compiler, 
with the largest resources and widest experience in literature for 
entertainment purposes, has produced one of the rarest, brightest, 
jolliest books of mirth-provoking dialogues ever published. Much 
ofthe matter was prepared especially forthis work. The dialogues 
are adapted to old and young of both sexes, and while often keenly 

witty, are wholly free from coarseness and vulgarity, 


Classic Dialogues an? Di amas 
By Mrs. J. W. Shoemaker 


This unique work will prove not only interesting and protitatle 
gor purposes of public and social entertainment, but also instruct- 
_iveand valuable for private reading and study. The book com- 
prises popular scenes judiciously selected from the plays of Shakes- 
peare, Sheridan, Bulwer, Schiller, and other dramatists, and each 
dialogue is so arranged as to be complete in itself. Many of the 
exercises may be given as readings or recitals, and will prove 
acceptable to audiences of the highest eulture and refinement, 


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‘Entertainment Books for Young Peopij,, 
Paper 40 Cents. Cloth $1.00. — 
Sterling Dialogues 
By William M. Clark 
The dialogues comprising this volume have been ehosen froma 
“erge store of material. The contributions are from the pens of 
the most gifted writers in this field of literature, and the topics are 
go varied and comprehensive that they are readily adapted to the 
meeds of Schools, Academies, and Literary Soeieties; They are 
especially suited for Social Gatherings and Home Amusement, ar 
the staging required is simple and easily obtained. 


Model Dialogues 
By William M. Clark 
fhe dialogues comprising this collection have been contributed 
by over thirty of America’s best writers in this field of literature. 
They represent every variety of sentiment and emotion, from the 
extremely humorous to the pathetic. Every dialogue is full of life 
and action ; the subjects are well chosen, and are so varied as to 
suit all grades of performers. The book is especially adapted for 
School Exhfbitions, Literary Societies, and Sunday-school and 
Social Gatherings. 


Standard Dialogues 


By Rev. Alexander Clark, A. M. 


Fne author's name is a guaranty of the exeellence of tixis book. 
His long experience as a lecturer before Teachers’ Institutes, and 
his close study of the teachers’ needs, his lofty ideals of education 

and of life, his refinement of taste, diversity of attainment, and. 
versatility of expression, all combine to qualify him in an eminent 
‘degree for the preparation of such a volume. For both taacher 
and entertainer this book has special pofmts of merit. es the dim 
logues are interesting as well as instructive. 


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Encertaiiment Book; for Youns Peo}. 
Paper 40 Cents. Cloth’ $1.00. 


Schoolday Dialogues 
By Rev. Alexander Clark, A. M. 


This book of dialogues, prepared for use in School Enter: 
tainments, furnishes great diversity of sentiment and diction. 
Although for the most part composed of serious or pathetic subjects 
matter, there will be found many humorous dialogues and much 
good material for the little folks, as well as for the older ones. 
The staging and costuming are of the simplest character, and are 
60 fully described as to make the task of preparation quite easy, 
even for the novice. 


Popular Dialogues 
By Phineas Garrett 


The author’s large experience in the Entertainmentané Amuse- 
ment field has qualified him for the preparation of « book of 
unusual merit. No work of this kind more fully meets the popu- 
jar demand for interesting and refined entertainment. In this 
collection will be found dialogues to suit every occasion, either for 
public entertainment or for a social evening at home. Humor and 
pathos are pleasantly blended, and provision is made for the 
wants of the young and the old, the grave and the gay, thee: 7° 
rienced “nd the inexperienced. 


Excelsior Dialogues 
By Phineas Garrett 


This book is composed of original dialogues and eelloquies 
designed for students in Schools and Academies, and prepared 


. expressly for this work by a corps of professional teachers and 


writers. Comedy and tragedy are provided in due proportion, 
and the moral tone of the work is of the highest order. Teachers 
will here find just the material for which they have been search- 
ing, something with plot enough to hold the attention and that 
“will command the best efforts of the older pupils. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
925-27 FILRERT STREET PHILADELPHIA 


“Entertainment Books for Young People 
; Paper 40 Cents. Cloth $1.00. 


Fancy Drills and Marcher 


By Alice M. Kellogg 
Children enjoy drills, and this is the most successful drill book 
ever published. It has more than fifty new ideas—drills, marches, 


motion songs and action pieces. Among them area Sifter Drill, © 


Ribbon March with Grouping and Posing, Pink Rose Drill, Christ- 
mas Tree Drill, Delsarte Children, Zouave Drill, Wreath Drill 
and March, Glove Drill, Tambourine Drill, March of the Red, 
White and Blue. Teachers will be especially pleased with the 
care given to the exercises for the smaller children. All of the 
drills are fully illustrated. 


Ideal Drill 
By Marguerite W. Morton 
This book contains 2, collection of entirely new and original 


drills, into which are introduced many unique and effective 


features. The fullest descriptions are given for the successful pro- 
duction of the drilis, and to this end nearly 100 diagrams have 
been inserted showing the difereat movements. Everything is 
made so clear that anyone can use the drills without the slightest 
difficulty. Among the more popular and pleasing drills are: The 
Brewnie, Taper, Maypole, Rainbow, Dumb-bell, Butterfiy, Sword, 
Flower, Ring, Scarf, Flag, and Swing Song and Drill. 


Eureka Entertainments 


The title of this volume expresses in a nutshell the character of 
its contents. The weary searcher after material for any kind of 


entertainment will, upon examination of this book, at once. 
exclaim, ‘“‘IT have found it.’”? Here is just what is wanted for use | 


in day-school, Sunday-school, at church socials, teas, and other 
festivals, for parlor or fireside amusement, in fact, for all kinds of 
scheel er home, public or private entertainments. The werk is 
characte~*7s4, by freshness and originality throughout. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 


EHuteriainment Books for Young Peopl« 
Paper 40 Cents. Cloth $1.00. 


Special Day Exerciser 


By Amos M. Kellogg 

Almost every week in the school year has its birthday of a 
national hero or a great writer. Washington, Michael Angelo, 
Shakespeare, Longfellow, Holmes, Browning and Emerson are 
among those the children learn to know from this book, The holi, 
days, Easter, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Memorial Day are not for: 
gotten; and in between are many happy suggestions for tree piant 
ing, for bird and flower lessons,.and debates. 


Christmas Selections 


By Rosamond Livingstone McNaught 
For Readings and Recitations 

uniay schools, day schools, the home circle, all derrand mx 
terial for Christmas entertainments, and all want something new 
- and appropriate. This book contains just what is wanted. Every 

‘piece is absolutely new, not a single one having previously been 
published in any book. It contains recitations, in prose and 
poetry, for every conceivable kind of public or private entertain- 
ment at Christmas time. 


Holiday Selections 
By Sara Sigourney Rice 
For Readings and Recitations 

‘The selections in this volume are adapted to all the different 
holidays of the year and are classified accordingly. Fully haifof 
the pieces are for Christmas, but ample provision is also made for 
_ New Year’s, St. Valentine’s Day, Washington’s Birthday, Easter, 
Arbor Day, Decoration Day, Fourth of July, and Thanksgiving. 
The pieces are unusually bright, and the variety under each holi- 
day will afford the fullest opportunity for a satisfactory choice; 
the older students and the little ones alike will find Ce 
- suited to theii different degrees of ability. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 


Entertainment Books for Young People 
Paper 40 Cents. Cloth $1.00. 
Holiday Entertainments 

By Charles C. Sheemaker 
Absolutely new and original. There are few things more popu- 
lar during the heliday season than Entertainments and Exhibi- 
tiens, and there is seareely anything more difficult to procure than 
new and meritorious material appropriate for sueh occasions. 
This book is made up of short dramas, dialogues, tableaux, 
recitations, ete., intyoducing many novel features that give the 
spice and sparkle so desirable for such oveasions. It is adapted to 
the full round of holidays, containing features especially prepared 
for Christmas, New Year’s, Washington’s Birthday, Easter, Deeo- 

ration Day, Fourth of July, and Thanksgiving. 


Spring and Summer School 
Celebrationy 


By Alice M. Kellogg 

This book shows how to capture ‘‘all outdoors”’ for the scheol 
room. Every warm weather holiday, ineluding May Day, 
Memorial Day, Closing Day, is represented; for each the book 
offers from ten to thirty new suggestions. Tableaux, pantomimes, 
recitations, marches, drills, songs and special programs, provide 
exactly the right kind of material for Spring exercises of any sert. 
The drills and action pieces are fully illustrated. Everything in 
the book has been especially edited and arranged for it. 


Select Speeches for Declamation 


By John H. Bechtel 

This book contains a large number of short prose piecer 
chesen from the leading writers and speakers of all ages and 
nations, and admirably adapted for use by college men. Only the 
very best, from a large store of choice material, was seleeted for 
this work. The names of Demosthenes, Livy, Kessuth, Bona- 
parte, Chatham, Burke, Macaulay, Huge, Gladstone, Washingten, 
Jefferson, Garfield, Harrison, Webster, Everett, Phillips, Curtis, 
Blaime, Beecher, Grady, Cleveland, McKinley, and Depew may 
serve to suggest the standard o.” the selections. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 


Swiws =e 
He 


I a ee ee 


Enteriainment Books for Young Pevpie 
Paper 40 Cents. Cloth $1.00. 
Temperance Selections 
By John H. Bechtel 
For Readings and Recitations 
These selections have been taken from the utterances of pulpit 
orators, from the speeches of political leaders, and from the pens 
of gifted poets. They depict the life of the drunkard, point out 
the first beginnings of vice, and illustrate the growth of the habit 
as one cup after another is sipped amid the pleasures and gayeties 
of social life. This volume appeals to human intelligenee, and 
speaks words of truth and wisdom that cannot be gainsaid. 


Sunday-School Selections 
By John H. Bechtel 


For Readings and Recitations 

This yolume contains about 150 selections of unusual merit, 
Among them something will be found adapted to every oecasion 
aid condition where a choice reading or recitation may be wanted. 
Suitable provision has been made for the Church Social, the Sun- 
day-school Conert, Teachers’ Gatherings, Christian Endeavor 
Soeieties, Anniversary occasions, and every assemblage of a relig- 
ious or spiritual eharacter. Besides its value for readings and 
recitations, the pastor will find mueh in it to adorn his sermon, 
and the superintendent points by whieh to illustrate the Sundays 
school lesson. 


Sunday-School fey afb 


All new and original. The demand for a book ef pleasing and 
appropriate Sunday-school entertainments is here supplied. The 
articles are largely in the nature of dialogues, tableaux, reeita- 
tions, concert pieces, motion songs, dramatized Bible stories, and 
_ responsive exercises, all based upon or illustrating some Biblical 
truth. Speeial care has been taken to make provision for such 
oceasions as Christmas, New Year’s, Easter, Thanksgiving, ard 
the full round of celebrations, so that no time or season is with. 
out a subject. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA 


Entertainment Books for Young Peopit — 


Paper 40 Cents. Cloth $1.00. 
Money Making Entertainments 
By Lizzie J. Rook and Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow 


There is no better way to raise money for church, schoo}, or be- 
nevolent purposes than by means of entertainments. This unique 
volume contains a great abundance of new and original material 
especially prepared for such occasions by two writers of wide ex- 
perience in this line of work. In addition to the money making 
features there is also a large variety of entertainments and socials 
for home use. 


Tableaux, Charades, and Pantomimes 


This attractive volume is adapted alike to Parlor Entertain- 
ments, School and Church Exhibitions, and for use on the Amateur 
Stage. The department of Tableaux isunusually complete. Only 


such scenes as can be produced with the smallest number of 


auxiliaries have been selected. Tableaux, with readings from 
standard authors, forma very attractive feature, as do also the 
statuary scenes. The volume has recently been enlarged by the 
addition of a number of new and original charades, which add 
greatly to the attractiveness of the book. 


School an? Parlor Comedies 


By B. L. C. Griffith 


The dialogue is so spirited that the lines almost play themselves, 
so that the plays are sure to be acceptable even in the hands of 
only fairly competent performers. The situations are ingenious, 
and the plots are such as command the attention of an audience at 
the outset and hold it until the last line is given. The plays differ 
widely in character, thus affording an unusual variety. The 
scenery required in any instance is not difficult and may be easily 
arranged in the class room or in the private parlor. 


THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 


925-27 FILBERT STREET PHILADELPHIA 


UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 


NAIA 


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